


Chosen

by Mistyeyes73



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angel Vessel Consent Issues (Supernatural), Angel Vessel Dean Winchester, Angel Vessel Sam Winchester, Angel/Human Relationships, Angels are Dicks (Supernatural), Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Enemies to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Name, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 85,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistyeyes73/pseuds/Mistyeyes73
Summary: When the world was about to descend into fatal war, the angels stepped in.  Now angels rule the world, but they need vessels. To be chosen is the highest of honors.  Parents register their children as candidates, hoping they'll be chosen to help rule the world by sharing their body with an angel.  Dean Winchester is exceptionally blessed. He's been chosen by an archangel! So why is he so upset about it?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 132
Kudos: 92





	1. The Candidate

There was no answer to the polite knock. No answer to the not-so-polite knock. No answer to the insistent pounding, either. By the time he finally gave up and kicked the door open, he’d already started to wonder if his charge had managed to die in the month since he’d first made contact. The aroma that greeted him when the door opened did little to dissuade that notion. The smell hit like a wave: beer and vomit and food left out in the heat mixing uneasily with various body odors. It seemed there was something terribly wrong with the plumbing. Nothing else could explain how a human habitat could smell so much like a dung heap.

Minding the hem of his trench coat, he carefully made his way among the piles of empty bottles, mold-growing pizza boxes, used condoms and other even less savory items of trash, watching and listening for any sign of movement. “Dean Winchester?” he called. “Candidate Dean Winchester! Rejoice, for your time has come!”

No answer. He frowned, checked the address he was given. Yes, he was in the right place. He brightened, hearing a sound from the room to his right. It sounded like a small moan, as if the one making it was in pain but trying not to express it. He quickly moved towards the room and opened the door.

It was a bedroom, he thought. It was difficult to tell. An array of discarded clothing, both men’s and women’s, were scattered on nearly every available surface, along with towels, more empty bottles, some discarded cups, and more of the take-out petri dishes. A wadded-up blanket was in one corner. A pillow was in another. There was a lump under the mess on the bed, but when he grimaced and dared to poke through it, the lump turned out to be a pillow. Frowning, he looked under the bed, brightening when he discovered a soiled bare foot. “Candidate Dean Winchester,” he called, poking the foot. “Rejoice!”

The owner of the foot did not rejoice. Nor did he respond. Instead, a soft snore came from under the bed.

He grabbed the ankle above the foot and pulled. The wretched ruin of a man appeared. The man was naked except for a pair of stained boxers. They appeared to have been in use for at least several days. The man’s hair was shaggy and full of grease, debris, and dust bunnies from where he’d inexplicably chosen to sleep. The instant the light hit his face, the man cried out and threw a grimy arm up to cover his eyes. All that could be seen was a scraggly dark beard. “Lemme ‘lone!”

“Candidate Dean Winchester?”

“No! You got the wrong guy, now beat it!”

“Oh!” He couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice. Obviously, someone somewhere had made a terrible mistake. There was no way this creature could possibly be a platinum-level candidate. Even a standard-level candidate would have been more presentable than this. Most of the candidates he’d picked up in his career had been anxiously waiting his arrival, some with friends and family waiting to see them off, others alone. Some had been so eager they’d actually been waiting outside their door. One had been there all night, so anxious for his arrival that she couldn’t sleep. That one had thrown her arms around his neck, weeping in joy and had to be gently pried off. Never had he encountered a situation like this. He should have realized sooner that it was some sort of clerical error. “I’m terribly sorry,” he apologized. “It seems even we can make mistakes sometime. I’ll just be on my way, and leave you to... whatever it was you were doing under there.”

“Yeah, you do that,” the man muttered. He rolled onto his stomach, retrieved the closest thing he could reach - a dirty t-shirt - and used it to cover his head, blocking the light.

It was so covered in grime that he almost missed it. But there on the man’s exposed right forearm were some unmistakable Enochian symbols. Frowning, he reached down, grasped the man’s arm and raised it, ignoring the man’s protests for a closer look. “This is the mark of a platinum level candidate!”

The man had been slapping at him with the t-shirt. Now he froze. Green eyes went wide. “Oh hell,” he groaned. “It’s you!”

“Oh my dad!” Now that he could see the man’s face, it was obviously Dean Winchester. The difference between now and when he’d last seen the candidate was extreme. The handsome auto shop mechanic had turned into a hobo. Alcohol seemed to seep through the man’s pores. Dirt and grime caked his skin. The green eyes were bloodshot. Winchester huffed, sending a cloud of noxious breath into his face. And incredibly, he pulled his arm free and crawled back under the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Getting away from you!”

He blinked in astonishment. Then he grabbed both of Winchester’s kicking feet and dragged him back out. “What is wrong with you?” he asked as Winchester cursed and tried to kick him in the face. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Yeah, you’re that angel, you want a prize?”

That was insulting, not to mention infuriating and humbling. “I am not ‘that angel.’ I do have a name, you know.”

“Who the hell can pronounce your asshole names? Pick a name like Bob or Joe or we’re settling for ‘that angel.’ Unless you want me to call you some of the things I did after you fucked up my life?”

The angel, who had been scowling at this, now blinked again. “Fucked up your life?”

“What the hell are you even doing back, anyway?” Winchester demanded. “You’re not supposed to be back for another week!”

“No,” the angel corrected. “I gave you one lunar month to get your affairs in order. It has been exactly that.”

Winchester blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Damn!” Winchester gave a low whistle. He looked around the room, seeming to notice his surroundings for the first time. “Ok, I may have overdone it a little. Doesn’t matter. The answer is no.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t an option.”

Winchester was straining to kick free, attempting to claw his way back under the bed. “Look, I’m not interested, ok? Go find some other schmuck. I hear lots of people are all about joining the God Mob.”

“Well, I certainly can’t present you like this!”

“Finally, we agree on something! Just... Hey! What the hell are you doing?!”

The angel chose to answer with his actions rather than words. He continued dragging Winchester feet-first into the bathroom. Something horrible was in the toilet. He tried flushing it, saw the water level start to rise alarmingly, and made the whole mess, toilet and all, vanish with a wave of his hand. Another wave and a bit more Grace removed the unspeakable in the shower.

Winchester had stilled and was staring, wide-eyed, at the hole and spraying water pipes where the toilet used to be. “Landlord’s gonna be pissed!”

“I don’t care.” He deposited Winchester in the shower and turned on the water.

What followed was a barrage of splashing, swearing, suds, fighting, spitting, and scrubbing. He supposed he could have just used his Grace to clean up the candidate himself, but why bother? The candidate should take a little personal pride. Besides, dunking him in the shower had been rather satisfying. That he’d been tasked to collect this human disaster was almost embarrassing. In the end, Winchester was clean and smelled much better. Oddly enough, he seemed most put out about the fact that the angel’s business suit and trench coat remained dry and immaculate. The shivering, dripping candidate meekly accepted a Grace-cleaned towel, muttering something about cheating angels.

The angel rooted around in the medicine cabinet and produced a grooming kit. He started to hand it to Winchester, but paused. The man seemed reasonably sober now, but... “If I give you this, are you going to harm yourself?”

“No!” the candidate snapped. “If I was going to do that, I would have done it the day you showed up. I wanted to, man, you don’t know how much I wanted to! But in the end, I was too much of a coward.”

There were so many things wrong with that statement. Dozens of questions sprang into the angel’s mind, but he held his tongue. Instead, he handed the kit to Winchester. “Please shave and trim your hair. If there’s any question, I could do it for you. Or would you prefer to visit a professional barber? I have a generous account for...”

The kit was snatched from his hand. “I’ve done this myself pretty much all my life,” Winchester growled. “Got no reason to change now.”

“As you wish.” He stood back, clasping his hands behind his back, and waited.

Winchester groaned. “Look, I gotta take a shit. Think you could mojo the toilet back, preferably clean? And give me a little privacy? Promise I won’t slit my throat!”

“Oh!” The angel concentrated, returning the clean toilet to its former spot. “I’m sure your, um, landlord would appreciate that as well.”

“Yeah, yeah, flutter off, would you, Feathers? A man has a right to shit without an audience. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

Something about the way the candidate was acting seemed off. In fact, dozens of alarms were going off in the angel’s head. So far, nothing at all about Dean Winchester was making much sense.

Still, what was the worst that could happen? Even if the candidate did harm himself, the angel could heal it. There was nowhere Winchester could go. Even if the candidate was up to something, which seemed fairly obvious, there was little that could realistically go wrong. “Alright,” the angel said, reluctantly. “I will be waiting right outside.”

“Yeah, sure, knock yourself out.” Winchester was looking between the toilet and the angel, frowning impatiently. “Any time, huh? Or would you rather I undo in a big way all the work you just did to clean me up?”

The angel went out. As promised, he stood directly outside the door. He tried to listen in on Winchester’s thoughts, but to his surprise, he found himself blocked. Odd. Very few humans had that ability. Winchester was powerful, probably with the ability to use magic, given the right spells and ingredients. Of course, that was why they’d removed every trace of it they could find once angels took over on Earth. Someone like Winchester could have posed a real problem otherwise. No wonder he was a platinum-level candidate. The angel winced, imagining what his superior would say if he could have seen Winchester as he’d been when the candidate had first been pulled out from under the bed?

Why, exactly, had Winchester been under the bed?

The angel had just enough time to frown at the bed and ponder his question before something bright and white-hot flashed from within the bathroom. He barely had time to scream before his Grace reacted, dragging him away. He went, tumbling uncontrolled, through space until he finally crashed to a landing.

It took him a moment to get his rattled senses to respond. As soon as his ears stopped ringing, he registered panicked squeals. Blinking open his eyes, the angel saw that he was surrounded by terrified pigs. They raced about him, throwing themselves against the fence in a desperate effort to get away from the stranger who had just landed in the middle of their sty. He was lying in a puddle of mud. It stuck to his suit when he managed to get to his feet, falling in large clumps to splat back into the yard. His trench coat was plastered to his body. He had a moment to think, with dismay, that he now looked worse than Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester.

The angel expanded his senses, trying to find out where he was. A pig farm in southern Wales. Perfect. Angrily, the angel trudged his way out of the pen. His head was still spinning. It would take some time before he could recover enough to use his Grace again, start searching for Winchester. Winchester would come with him, in chains if necessary. He had no choice. He’d been chosen.

****

Dean drove as fast as he dared through the narrow streets, pushing Baby through hairpin turns. His heart was pounding in his chest, making the cut he’d hastily made in his arm with the razor throb with every beat. Already, the makeshift bandage he’d tied over the wound was bloody. He’d wanted to be sure to have enough blood to be able to draw the banishing sigil. Maybe he’d cut too deep? Didn’t matter. Now wasn’t the time to worry about his wound. He couldn’t keep his eyes from constantly flicking into the rearview mirror, expecting to see blue eyes looking back at him.

After a time, he finally calmed enough to relax his foot on the pedal. For now, at least, it appeared he’d lost the angel. But now what?

Keeping his eyes on the road, he fumbled with one hand in the glove box, searching by touch for his cell phone. Finding it, he quickly dialed.

Bobby answered on the second ring. “Dean, you idjit, I swear if you’re calling me to bail you out of jail again, you can damned well rot there!”

Dean winced. “Bobby, I’m in trouble, but not like that. I need a place to hide. Can you meet me at the cabin?”

“Did you get some girl in trouble?”

Dean groaned. “I don’t know, probably. But that’s not what I’m running from, ok?”

“What do you mean, ‘probably?’”

“That was kind of the idea when they slept with me, Bobby.”

“What?! Boy, what in tarnation...?”

“Bobby, I used a condom when I could, but it’s not about the girls! It’s about Sammy!”

That silenced the surly old man. After a long moment, Bobby grunted, “How far away are you from the cabin?”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m about two hours away if I drive non-stop. And believe me, I’m not stopping. It’s still got all the angel warding, right?”

“Far as I know it does. Alright, I’ll throw some shit together and meet you out there.” He paused. “Dean? You sure you’re not being followed?”

“Yeah.” Dean took a deep breath. “I still have that book, the one you told me to keep hidden or burn? I never stopped trying to translate it. I kept it under my bed, studied it every night, and half the time I slept with it.”

“What in tarnation for?” Bobby paused. “You didn’t do something stupid like use that angel banishing sigil we found, did you?”

Dean grimaced. “Yeah. I did. And it’s a damned good thing I had it memorized!”

Bobby swore at him. “How bad is it?”

“Bad.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know, some blue-eyed fucker.”

“You didn’t get his name?”

“Who can remember those stupid angel names?”

That resulted in more swearing. “Every bit of information would help, Dean!”

“I’m sorry! I think it started with a C, or maybe an S?”

“You don’t have a brain in your head, do you, boy?”

“I’m sorry, alright? I kind of went into shock when he first showed up out of nowhere, grabbed my arm and did his ‘Congratulations, blessed candidate’ speech. Everyone around me started going nuts. Wasn’t exactly time to get on a first-name basis with the fucker, alright?”

“But now you had time to use an angel banishing sigil on him?”

Dean fidgeted. “It got complicated.”

Bobby groaned. “What about the candidacy?”

“Yeah, that’s not good news, either,” Dean admitted. “It’s a bit worse than standard.”

“Worse than Sammy?”

“Maybe? What level was he?”

“Platinum.”

“Well, it’s not worse than Sammy,” Dean offered weakly. This was not going well at all.

“Alright,” Bobby soothed. “Just stay calm. At least we have a month before the bastard comes back for you.”

“Um, about that...” Dean swallowed through a throat that had suddenly gone dry. “I sort of lost track of time. He, um, came back for me today. The candidacy happened a month ago.”

This time, the silence over the phone was louder than thunder.

“I tried, Bobby,” Dean pleaded. “I swear, I did! Over and over I looked at my phone, even put in your number, but I couldn’t! I just couldn’t tell you!”

More silence.

“Bobby? I’m starting to worry here. You didn’t just have a heart attack or a stroke, did you?”

“I couldn’t be so lucky!” Bobby snapped. “Get your ass to the cabin. Soon as I get there, I’m kicking it.” He hung up.

Dean tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and realized he’d slowed down until he was actually below the speed limit. Baby probably thought he’d turned into an old woman. He nudged her back up to a comfortable cruising speed with some effort.

In a way, he was more afraid of Bobby than he’d been of the angel.


	2. One Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean explains himself to Bobby

“Quit your damned pouting, Dean,” Bobby ordered.

Dean was certainly pouting. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He moved the package of frozen peas, revealing his blackening eye. “You didn’t have to punch me in the face!”

“I told you I was going to kick your ass,” Bobby offered by way of explanation. “Did ya think I was joking?”

Dean gingerly replaced the peas on his eye. “You didn’t have to hit me so hard. You knocked me out cold!”

“Oh, boo hoo, princess. I ain’t about to kiss it better, so if you want to eat, get up off your ass. The stew’s done.”

That had been the only good thing about Bobby’s little love tap. When Dean had finally come to, Bobby had been busy over the stove. He’d thrown the bag of peas at Dean and told him to hold it on his eye and keep his mouth shut until after dinner. At least it had delayed the inevitable.

Dean helped himself to a large bowl of stew. It was delicious. He ate it with generous portions of bread, keeping his eyes on the food to avoid having to look at Bobby. Of course, when he peeked, Bobby wasn’t looking at him anyway. He seemed remarkably calm.

Generally, with Bobby, that was not a good sign.

Finally, the meal was over. Dean quietly gathered the dishes and put them in the sink. When he returned, Bobby was perched in his favorite chair. His face could have been carved into Mount Rushmore. “Sit,” the old man ordered. “Talk. Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out or I’ll make your eyes match.”

Dean had no doubt Bobby would carry out his threat. With a sigh, he perched on the battered sofa, folded his hands on his knees, and took a deep breath. “He showed up at work,” he began. “This guy in a business suit and a trench coat. I’ll admit, I checked him out. He was cute, but there was something about him. You could tell he had power. He had these blue eyes that just…” He gestured helplessly, searching for words before shaking his head. “I don’t know. I think it was his whole attitude. Like, he carried himself like someone who knew exactly what he wanted, you know? Just strolled into the place like he belonged there and to Hell with anyone who said otherwise.” Dean shook his head. “Looking back, hearing myself say that? I have to wonder how I didn’t guess what he was right away. Anyway, he just sort of glanced around until his eyes landed on me. Then he ignored everyone else and just strolled right over. I thought he was a customer, you know? Didn’t know why he’d ignore the manager and go straight for me, but whatever, right? I stood up, smiled, and offered my hand.”

Bobby made a sound.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean sighed. “But how the hell was I supposed to know he was an angel? I was just trying to shake his hand, you know, like normal people do. Surprised the hell out of me when he grabbed my wrist, shoved my sleeve back and clamped his hand on my arm.” Dean slid back his sleeve, looking at dismay at the marks scarred into the flesh of his forearm. His finger traced the old scars before lingering on the new ones. “It didn’t hurt the first time, when I was registered. It didn’t hurt this time, either. Just tingled a bit, almost itched. But there was this glow under his hand when he was doing it. Of course, I figured out right away what he was up to. I tried, Bobby. I tried hard to pull loose. But the strength of this guy!”

“They’re tough,” Bobby agreed quietly. “Back during the Angel War, they were throwing cars around like they were matchbox toys. And nothing we had could do more than slow ‘em down a little.”

“I believe it,” Dean said bitterly. “This guy, he could have been made out of steel for all I could budge him. And the whole time he’s doing his spiel about me being chosen as an angel vessel candidate and what a huge honor it was? I could barely hear him over everyone else there screaming and carrying on! You would have thought I won the lottery. When the angel left, the manager actually closed the shop right in the middle of the workday to celebrate.”

“Damned fools,” Bobby growled. “Seems like everyone’s decided to drink the Kool-Aid lately. Yeah, the angels showed up and saved us right as we were about to nuke ourselves into the next ice age, but then they took over. We may have fought ‘em at first, but once they stomped out the last of the rebellion?” He scoffed. “No one even questions the bastards anymore. They take over a human body until they use it up and then just go looking for another one. And no one says boo! They spin their ‘blessed candidate’ bullshit, try to make it seem like this huge honor, and the public buys into it hook, line, and sinker.”

“I think I get it, a little,” Dean offered gently. “Not everyone’s like you, Bobby. When they took your wife, you couldn’t just sit back and pretend it was a good thing, not when you knew it wasn’t what she wanted. And when Sammy was chosen, Dad...”

“I told you not to ever speak to me about that son of a bitch!” Bobby suddenly yelled. “The bastard that sired you was all about giving his boys up to the angels. Had you both registered the minute you were old enough. And why not? What would it matter if you were chosen? Not like he was ever around in either of your lives, was he? He got you registered, took the money and went right back to it. Then he did the same thing to Sammy, and look what happened!” Bobby suddenly threw his mug to shatter against the wall. “I told your fool father it wasn’t right years ago, when I begged him not to get you registered. I saw it with my wife! Angels aren’t symbionts, they’re parasites! They take people over and either wipe their minds completely or shove them so far back into their own minds they’ve got no control at all. And I pray to whoever might be listening that it’s the first one, Dean. Because I couldn’t imagine...” He grimaced. “Don’t listen to me, boy. Just the demented ramblings of a bitter old man.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. His fingers were tracing the old scars again. The fresh ones just below them were different, yet similar. “Dad didn’t get us registered for the money, Bobby,” he offered. “I mean, the money helped, but he believed what everyone believed. He wanted a better life for us. Even after what happened to your wife, I didn’t really understand, not until...”

“I know.” Bobby’s voice was suddenly gentle. “None of us were prepared to see Sam like that. After we lost him, I pretty much gave up on the world. Now I only ever go out for supplies. I’m sorry, Dean. I guess I’m not used to being around people anymore. If I’d just been paying attention, I might have heard about you being chosen. I think maybe a part of me was too afraid I would.”

Dean could hear his own pain echoed in Bobby’s voice. He looked up and nodded in thanks when a cold bottle of beer was placed in his hand. A long drink of it gave him time to collect his thoughts. “After I was chosen, everything changed fast. My job was just the start. When you’re chosen, people fall all over themselves to get close. My boss flat-out told me not to bother coming to work, he’d make sure I got my paycheck. Then every old friend, distant relative, or ex-girlfriend I ever had came crawling out of the woodwork.”

“Same story every time,” Bobby grumbled. “It’s why I stopped following the news. Seems like everyone’s all for someone getting chosen. With the angels ultimately calling the shots all over the world, everyone believes that being chosen is the ticket to the big leagues. The higher the level of the candidate, the worse it gets.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “Sammy had celebrities and politicians wanting to meet him, get a picture taken with him, hell, even sleep with him! He could have had his pick of anyone he wanted.” He stilled. “He didn’t want it, though. He never wanted any of it. But Bobby? I took whatever I could get. Male, female, threesomes, whatever. The men just wanted to get close to me. I could use condoms with them and usually did, but the women? Bobby, the women wanted to get pregnant from me!”

“We still don’t know exactly what it is that makes an angel select one candidate over another,” Bobby said. “There’s a lot of evidence for it being a genetic thing, though. Makes sense. Here you are, you and your brother both being selected.”

“Exactly,” Dean agreed. “The women were throwing themselves at me, trying to get pregnant. But I didn’t care. The truth is, I pretty much gave up. Why not, right? Not like I could stop what was happening to me. So instead, I slept with anyone who wanted me. I drank any bottle and took any drug that anyone put in front of me. I spent the last month just trying to lose myself in anything I could. I think part of me hoped I’d OD, or one of my partners would kill me because I didn’t have the balls to kill myself. I didn’t care. Anything to get me out of this!”

A solid hand squeezed Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, why the hell didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

“I couldn’t,” Dean confessed. He’d slumped in his chair, bruised eye forgotten, staring at the bottle in his hands. “I just couldn’t, Bobby. I couldn’t face you, knowing what I would become.” He looked up at Bobby, seeing the hollow expression in his eyes. “Losing Sammy killed a part of you, just as much as it did to me. And dad? Whatever you may think of him, in the end, he died trying to correct his mistake.”

“Too little too late, if you ask me.”

“Well, I couldn’t ask you, could I?” Dean snapped, finally granting himself a show of temper. He waved a hand towards Bobby’s library. “You’ve spent your life since you lost your wife gathering everything you could get your hands on. This place is probably the single biggest repository of angel lore in the country, especially since the angels decided to get rid of everything they could find after the war! You’re the one who gave me that book…”

“I didn’t give you shit! You stole that book!”

“Yeah, and look where it got me?” Dean challenged. “I never expected to find anything to save me in it, but I still studied it every night. I guess it was the part of me that just wasn’t ready to give up yet, still wanted to fight. And in the end, I did fight, the only way I could.”

“You’re a damned fool for using that banishing sigil,” Bobby said, dropping into another chair. The chair produced a squeak of protest, which was ignored. “Doing that showed your hand. Now that angel knows you’ve got access to lore. That means next time, he’ll be careful. And you can bet your ass he’ll look for it and confiscate anything he finds! That’s precisely how I lost the best of what I was able to scrape together. Once they knew I had it, they came after it with a vengeance. If I wasn’t a paranoid bastard and made copies of everything, we’d be left with damn near nothing except what little I was able to hide from them. That lore is the only play we’ve got. Why the hell would you let those feathered bastards know you had access to an angel banishing sigil?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Dean protested. “He was right there, ready to take me. And he wasn’t taking no for an answer. I couldn’t fight him, I couldn’t run, what was left?”

“You mean besides coming to me a month ago?”

“Alright!” Dean yelled. He gave the table a kick. “I fucked up, ok? I should have called you. But even if I did, what the hell could you have done, Bobby? Locked me up in your panic room?”

“Thought did cross my mind.”

Dean slumped. “I don’t know if even that could stop this thing. If the blue-eyed bastard in the trench coat doesn’t take me, the fucker who chose me might just get impatient and make his own appearance!”

That made Bobby cock an eyebrow. “You said this candidacy wasn’t standard.”

“No.”

“And by the sound of things, it’s higher than copper, too. Silver?”

“Keep going.”

Bobby straightened. “Tell me you’re a gold-level candidate,” he pleaded.

Dean hung his head. “Remember what you were saying, about Sammy and I proving a genetic link? Well, you’re right. I’m platinum, Bobby. The archangel Michael chose me for his vessel.”

Dean expected silence. What he didn’t expect was the sound that rose from Bobby’s throat. It continued, pausing only for a quick intake of breath, growing louder and louder until the old man was screaming. Then he was up, holding tight to Dean. “Bobby!” Dean gasped. “Bobby, calm down!”

“No! No! They’re not taking both my boys. I won’t let it happen, I can’t!”

“I know, Bobby,” Dean soothed, glad his friend was at least saying words instead of just making that awful sound. “But that’s why I didn’t call you. The moment I heard that name? I mean, it’s an archangel! How could we stop him? What the hell could a couple of guys do against that kind of power?”

“Gaaaaah!” Bobby hurled his cap into a corner and clutched at his hair. He paced the living room. “I’m not giving up,” he muttered. “I’ll find a way. Or I’ll die trying!”

That, unfortunately, was precisely what Dean was afraid of.

****

Uriel looked up at the sound of the door opening. He blinked in surprise, taking in the clean yet obviously disheveled and agitated figure coming in. “What happened to you?”

“Dean Winchester happened to me!”

Uriel rose, moving to approach his friend. “Tell me you brought the candidate.”

His answer was an agitated wave towards the door. “Do you see the candidate with me, Uriel? He banished me, and worse, he renounced my name!”

That made Uriel’s eyes widen. “He took away your name?”

The angel had cleaned off all of the mud. But the simple exercise of opening his wings and flying back to Heaven was exhausting. He threw himself onto the sofa and covered his face with one arm. “Have you tried saying it?”

Uriel’s mouth opened. Then it closed again. He opened and closed his mouth a few more times before giving a low whistle. “Oh, that’s bad. When he became a candidate, your name was branded onto him. That gave him the connection he needed to have power over you. So if he renounced you right when you were most vulnerable, when you were marking him with Michael’s name?” He shook his head. “We all knew you collectors were taking a risk, marking candidates for the rest of us. But how did he know? We were so careful! We made certain that there’s not a single piece of lore anywhere on that planet that so much as mentions it!”

“Normally, I would say he didn’t know, that it was just a lucky mistake,” the angel said. “My name has been branded onto him since he was assigned to me as a child, and he never so much as prayed to me.” He moved his arm so that one blue eye could take in his friend. “But today, he used an angel banishing sigil. He obviously knows something!”

Uriel dropped into a chair. “Oh. Well, I’d wondered where you’ve been all month. Now I guess I understand why you stayed out of sight. If anyone found out you’d been renounced, that a simple candidate had turned the tables on you like that?”

The angel growled and threw his arm back over his face. “He’s completely blocked me, Uriel. I have no idea how I’m going to find him now! He’s refused to say my name for the past month…”

“How did you even manage to keep this under wraps for a month?”

“…And now he’s renounced me completely, and sealed it with a banishing sigil! I can’t sense him at all. I couldn’t read his thoughts even standing right next to him, which tells you something about how powerful he is. Clearly, he can use magic. It’s no wonder he was chosen, but of all the humans in the world, why did Michael have to decide on this one? This is the worst candidate I have ever had…”

“He’s also the most important candidate you’ve ever had!”

“…And by the time I went to collect him, the bond was so weak I wasn’t entirely sure where to find him,” the angel went on. “I had to stop by Heaven’s tracking division to make sure I had his address. Then when I did find him, he was in such a state that he almost convinced me I had the wrong human.” He shuddered. “The state of him, Uriel! It was clear he’d spent the past month living in depravity and filth…”

“…And renouncing your name the entire time…”

The angel sat up, glowering at his friend. “You are not helping.”

Uriel shrugged. “Just trying to understand what happened.”

“What happened is that he renounced me when I was most vulnerable, right after I sealed him for Michael,” the angel snapped. “Immediately, I could feel the effects. It was like having my wings clipped, my powers drastically reduced. My whole being was lessened! So, I spent a month trying to keep my head down, skulking around on Earth, hoping it would somehow wear off or he’d relent. But that didn’t happen. I finally had to go to the trackers to even find him, only to have him banish me! I have no idea what I’m going to do now.”

Uriel spread his hands. “I sympathize. I really do. I’ve never had it happen, but if he renounced your name, and had the power to back it up, which he clearly does?” He shook his head. “We are multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent, with no physical bodies, spoken into existence. Our names define us. By renouncing yours, he actually took away part of your being! That must have severely weakened you.”

“I’m aware!” the angel growled. “And it’s only getting worse the longer it goes on. It was all I could do to clean myself up and fly back up here. I was banished to a pig pen in Wales!”

“That’s why you have that lingering odor,” Uriel mused. He shook his head. “How’d he do it?”

“Simple! He was chosen, and I received my orders. I went to him, told him who I was and that Michael had chosen him. And his answer?” The angel straightened, mimicking the candidate. “I don’t care who you are! You’re nobody! Get the fuck away from me!”

“Ouch.” Uriel winced in sympathy. “This was your chance to get promoted to silver level. Now, after this, Michael will likely bust you back down to standard and throw you in the dungeon.”

“Or smite me out of existence completely,” the angel sighed. “That might be preferable to the shame of being demoted back to standard class. Although right now, I’m so weak I’m no stronger than standard!” He gave Uriel a pleading look. “I’ve been working for a millennia to get from copper to silver class. Now, because of one ridiculous candidate, I’m going to lose it all? Help me!”

“Of course,” Uriel soothed. “The most important thing is that you find the candidate, and fast. So let’s go back to the trackers. I’ll help you find him, then I’ll stay behind and do what I can to delay things. That should give you time to convince him to give you your name back. Then all you have to do is bring him in.” He smiles. “Michael wants this vessel badly. Even if he’s irritated about the delay, he’ll be so happy to have his vessel that hopefully he’ll be in a forgiving mood. Just bring the candidate in, give him to Michael and leave the rest to me.”

The angel rose, moving to clasp his friend’s shoulder. “You are a true friend, Uriel. I can only hope, if I ever reach your rank, I am even half as much credit to the garrison as you are.”

“Once you’re silver, you’ll be on the fast track to being captain of your own garrison,” Uriel encouraged. “Now come on. The sooner we find the candidate, the better.”

The angel was in a far better mood as he followed Uriel. But the answers they received from the trackers were less than ideal.

“What do you mean, you can’t find him?” Uriel demanded.

The tracker, only standard class, cringed before the angry silver and copper class visitors. “I’m sorry, sirs,” she apologized. “But this candidate isn’t registering at all. Wherever he is, he’s hidden from Heaven’s eyes.”

“The lore,” the angel groaned. “He’s clearly gotten access to more than just the banishing sigil.”

“So it would seem.” Uriel pointed at the tracker. “Give us his last known location.”

The tracker quickly wrote it down. Uriel took it and handed it to the angel. “Go and find your candidate,” he urged.

The angel frowned at the paper. “This is a fifty-mile radius, from two hours ago!”

“It’s a start!” Uriel took his friend by the arm and quickly led him out. “You need to get down there and start searching right away. I’m going to have to go back and talk to that tracker, make sure she keeps her mouth shut about this. Then I’ll do what I can to stall things, just like we talked about. But you need to find your candidate, and fast!”

“How?” the angel hissed. “There are five billion humans on that planet!”

“Yes, there are,” Uriel agreed. “And that’s precisely how you’ll find Dean Winchester. You just wait and let the rest of the human filth flush him out. Once he does, you grab that mud monkey, shake your name out of him if you have to, and drag him up here as fast as you possibly can.”

The angel nodded, understanding. Then he frowned. “Uriel? Why did he banish me in the first place? Why would he refuse a platinum-level candidacy?”

“Who knows how humans think?” Uriel growled. “I’m just glad I don’t have to spend much time on Earth anymore. The smell alone is nauseating. Now stop asking ridiculous questions and go find him!”


	3. Low Profile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Bobby searches for answers, Dean needs to keep out of sight.

Bobby had instructed Dean to stay put while he went to see some friends who might be able to help. It could take anywhere from a couple of weeks to a month. That couldn’t be helped. No, Dean didn’t need to know where he was going, it was better that Dean not know that. Dean was not coming with Bobby. Dean was to remain in the cabin, protected by the angel wardings. He was not to leave the cabin for anything short of the apocalypse, and even then, reconsider going out. Bobby had made several threats to ensure Dean’s compliance. He was not above locking Dean in his panic room, strapped into the bed with a tube up his nose to feed him and another up his ass. There were strong hints that the tube up Dean’s ass wouldn’t be for any medical reason. With these heartwarming words, Bobby threw his bag into his old truck and headed out for parts unknown.

Dean had the cabin to himself. He sobered up, cleaned up, shaved and cut his hair. His clothes were beyond redemption. He burned them and changed into one of the clean sets he’d left at the cabin from his last visit. That had been Bobby’s suggestion, after they’d lost Sam. Even then, Bobby had feared for Dean, making sure Dean had a place to go if he ever had to hide. If he’d come here, instead of giving over to despair, would Blue Eyes still have been able to find him? No way to know. At least now, Dean had clean clothes. Cleaned and dressed, he felt like a new man. He was a little ashamed of himself for how low he’d let himself sink. No more. Bobby was right. Dean couldn’t just lie down and give up. The fucking angels had already taken too much from him.

Being alone in a rustic cabin in the middle of nowhere was conducive to a lot of soul-searching. Dean considered his options. He was done giving up. He had no intention of letting Blue Eyes take him. What did that leave? Running was out. The cabin was the only real place he had left to run to, but he couldn’t stay here forever. No choice. He had to fight. Fine. At least he was in the right place to figure out the best way to make a stand.

He dug into the book he’d stolen, as well as the lore Bobby had stashed at the cabin. It wasn’t an easy task. While he was anything but stupid, Dean had never been the scholarly type. He’d read and study for a bit until his eyes crossed. Then he’d do something else for a while and come back later. Bobby was off the grid, but the satellite internet he’d illegally obtained was good enough for video streaming. In between binge watching Dr. Sexy and the collection of horror movies on Netflix, Dean did manage to learn some new information about angels.

Bobby, it seemed, had been right in questioning the wisdom of not paying attention when the angel had told Dean his name. Names had a lot of power, especially for angels. By marking someone with their name, an angel formed a lasting bond with that person. It was, in fact, precisely what was scarred into a candidate’s arm when they were first registered. That was why only a small percentage of people who came to be registered ended up accepted and marked as candidates. Not everyone could be an angel vessel. Those who could were basically branded with the name of the angel who would be responsible for collecting him or her in the event that candidate was chosen.

For half his life, Dean had been wearing the name of the blue-eyed bastard who would come to drag him off right on his arm. And that explained why the angel had come straight for Dean. The two of them had been linked since Dean was twelve years old and John Winchester had dutifully brought Dean to be registered. If he’d bothered to learn that angel’s name, Dean realized regretfully, it would have given him some power. With the name, it was possible to pray to your angel, maybe summon it, question it, perhaps even get it to help you or do favors. Well, nothing for it now. He’d just have to translate the weird angel language scribbled on his arm. He’d learn the name, summon the bastard right to where Dean wanted him. That would provide a chance to trap him.

Trapping an angel actually looked deceptively simple. A circle of burning holy oil would do the trick. Now he just had to figure out where, exactly, he could get holy oil. Google gave him some options, but when Dean went hunting for Bobby’s fake credit cards, he discovered a large container marked “holy oil” in the gun cabinet. Naturally. Where else would you keep holy oil, if not in the gun cabinet? Dean snagged the container, filled up a few small bottles with the stuff, and stashed them in pockets, around the cabin and in Baby’s trunk. They would probably come in handy someday. Worst case, he could pour a circle around himself, light it up, and keep the winged dicks off until the oil burned out. It was better than nothing.

Now that he had the holy oil, he just needed to translate the stupid angel language. But here, he hit a dead end. Bobby didn’t have anything on their language anywhere in the cabin. Google was no help, either. The few sites he was directed to were all blank. Apparently, the angels didn’t want mere humans able to read their language. Well that sucked. So much for plan A.

Fine. Time to figure out plan B. Dean refused to believe that, in all the angel lore Bobby had amassed through the years since the Angel War, there was nothing in any of it that would allow someone to fight them. The simple fact that the angels had destroyed the originals was proof enough that there was something in there, somewhere. All Dean had to do was keep reading.

As Dean read on, he found something he wished he’d known before. He’d known that angels had various levels. At the bottom were the worker ants, the standard angels. They did the grunt work. Next came the copper level angels. These were mostly messengers, and their ranks included the collectors who dealt with candidates. Above them were the frontline fighters, the silver ranked angels that the world had seen in action during the Angel Wars, dismantling the human weaponry, shrugging off explosions and stopping missiles in their tracks. The generals of Heaven’s army were the gold level angels, whose power was only eclipsed by the god-like platinum level archangels.

The weird thing was that, in a way, every other rank of angel was dependent on the lowly copper level. While most angels had returned to Heaven after the Angel War, those who had come to Earth, and those who currently remained to rule it, required vessels. Not even the archangels could remain on Earth without a human vessel. Dean didn’t know what would happen to one if they tried. The books didn’t address that. The one thing that was clear was that human vessels were essential if any angel wanted to spend any real period of time on Earth. That’s why every angel stationed on Earth required one.

When God had ruled, all an angel had to do in order to obtain a human vessel was to obtain the consent of that human. But when God, for reasons known only to the archangels, had stepped down and abandoned His creation right after the Angel War, He had taken that power away. He’d also apparently damaged the ability of angels to preserve the vessels they had. The vessels the angels had obtained prior to this had lasted for millennia. But now, they barely lasted a couple of centuries, just twice the length of a human’s natural lifespan. The angels had been forced to find a new way to obtain a steady supply of vessels.

Vessels meant candidates. And candidates were the jurisdiction of the copper-level collector angels. It was a copper angel who had registered Dean and later Sam. And a copper level had taken Sam to Lucifer. Blue Eyes, apparently, was copper level, too. And that was significant. While it was proven that multiple candidates could be assigned to the same collector, only that collector could claim the candidate. No angel could ever simply take a candidate as its vessel. They needed a collector for that. The reason was that no angel, from standard clear up to the archangels, could take a candidate who didn’t bear their name. No angel could apply its own name to a human, either. Only the copper angels could apply an angel’s name to a candidate. Those at the registration center labeled candidates with the name of their collector. Then, when a candidate was chosen, the collector angels were responsible for claiming a candidate. This was the second name, branded into the candidate when the collector came to tell them they’d been chosen. But only the collector could bring the candidate and facilitate them becoming a vessel.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelled into the empty cabin. “We never had to beat any angel who’d chosen us, because they could never just take us on their own. It was the collectors all along. We just had to beat the collectors! If we take Blue Eyes out, Michael can’t touch me!”

Dean immediately called Bobby and told him the news. Bobby called him an idjit and told him to call when he figured out how to beat even a standard level angel, much less a copper level. He was equally unimpressed by Dean’s information about the holy oil. Of course there was holy oil in the gun cabinet. Bobby had tried dipping bullets into it, hoping to make angel-killing bullets. It hadn’t worked. If Dean wanted to experiment, Bobby had several gallons in the shed out back. Dean could help himself. “Now leave me alone for a while,” Bobby ordered. “I’m busy trying to save your sorry hide!”

Dean was disappointed in the reaction he’d received, but not entirely surprised. He was also not surprised to find a collection of fifty-five-gallon drums all marked “holy oil” in the shed. Of course. If there was anyone outside of the Vatican who would have a massive collection of holy oil, Bobby Singer would be that man. Dean was content to bring another gallon of it in. He used it to create more bottles to stash. Then it was back to the books.

Bobby continued on his mysterious mission while Dean burned his brain on the lore and suffered from cabin fever. But apparently, Bobby either hadn’t had time to stock the cabin recently or wasn’t aware how low his supplies were. Dean did what he could to stretch the supplies, but the longer Bobby stayed away, the less Dean had to work with. By the end of the week, Dean was left with mostly vegetables, beans, and bottled water.

No bacon. No pie. No _beer._ Nope. This could not stand.

Dean called Bobby. No answer. The old man was too busy to answer, was somewhere without signal, or he’d forgotten to charge his phone again. Regardless, Dean was now out of options. The skies had been cloudy for three days straight, reducing the ability of the solar panels to provide power. He was out of gas for the generator. That meant no power to the computer, or worse, refrigerator or freezer. There was no choice. He needed gas and supplies. He had to go into town.

He could do it quickly, he reasoned. If he slapped a few angel wardings on Baby’s interior, he’d be shielded. All he had to do was move fast. He’d go into town, get supplies, and get back. With Baby shielded, the only time he’d be at risk would be the short periods he was actually in the stores. That was a risk he could mitigate. All stores were set up in basically the same way. If he went in with a list, strategically arranged so what he needed took him right through the store? He could get his supplies, check out, get back in Baby and safely into the cabin. No mess, no fuss, and no pushy angels. He could do this. Besides, he told himself, it had been nearly a week since he’d given Blue Eyes the slip. By now, Michael could have easily found himself a better, willing candidate. All this hiding was probably for nothing. No angels were even looking for him. Naturally, he’d take precautions, just in case, but he’d be fine. He needed supplies. He’d be quick, and back in the cabin before any angels saw him, even if they were still looking.

Mind made up, Dean made his list. He looked through Bobby’s lore, found the best angel wards that looked easiest to draw, and got to work. The wards, he quickly discovered, were tough to do, especially on the underside of the hastily removed seats. Dean simply couldn’t bring himself to deface his Baby by putting them anywhere obvious. Didn’t matter. Wards were wards. The fact you couldn’t see them didn’t matter in the end, just that they were there. And Dean was about eighty percent positive he’d gotten the right wards, painted correctly. A little mistake here or there couldn’t hurt. He’d only be out for an hour, an hour and a half at most. He’d taken more time than that getting ready. Too bad he couldn’t use the fake credit cards. It was a small town, full of people who would know Bobby, and likely know about the cards. Dean searched, but couldn’t find any stash of cash. Dean’s own stash was still back in the room he’d banished Blue Eyes from. But at least he had his wallet, with his own credit cards. It was ok. If he was quick, he’d be fine.

Dean replaced the seats with the secret angel wards, grabbed a couple items for his pockets, loaded up his wallet, and climbed into his Baby. She purred her way into town. That turned out to be a mistake. As usual, heads turned when the sleek black Impala rumbled through the streets of the tiny town near Bobby’s cabin. Baby wasn’t a car that tended to avoid notice. Normally, that was a point to be proud of, but right now, Dean would have preferred to slide under the radar. Well, it wasn’t like Dean had a choice. It was drive Baby, or take the four-wheeler, and where could he put angel wards on that? Still, in retrospect, maybe juggling groceries on the warded-up four-wheeler might have been safer than the looks and pointed fingers his Baby was getting.

Determined to stick to the plan, Dean pulled into his first stop – the gas station. Bobby’s cabin was off the map, off the radar, and off the supply lines for electricity. Most of the power came from the solar panels on the roof. The gas-powered generator he used at night worked well, but Dean was badly in need of some fuel. Even keeping the generator off as much as he could, he’d emptied his reserves last night.

Dean pulled several gas cans out of Baby’s trunk, swiped his card, and started filling them up. The girl at the next pump was cute. She wore a white dress that showed a nice amount of her shapely legs. Dean admired the view as he topped off his gas cans. She seemed just as interested in him. Unfortunately, Dean couldn’t realistically do much about it right now. He settled for giving her a smile. She smiled back, but her eyes were still locked to his face. The way she was staring at him was a little off-putting. Maybe it was best he didn’t have time to chat her up. Last thing he needed was some weirdo after him.

Leaving the gas station, Dean made a quick stop at the beer distributer. Driving through, he noticed a familiar jeep. The girl in the white dress was inside. She still seemed to be watching him. Weird. It was probably nothing, he reasoned. It was a small town, after all. No reason someone who’d just come from the same gas station he’d left wouldn’t now make her way to a drive-through beer distributer.

By the time Dean parked and headed into the store, he’d forgotten the girl. She’d faded in significance when he realized his second mistake. Dean had avoided the big chain grocery store, choosing instead to patronize a local grocery. But the store wasn’t laid out in the manner he’d expected. Dean wasted time moving from aisle to aisle until he finally just started moving methodically up and down the aisles, crossing items off as he found them. The store was still organized, with items set up in logical ways. After a few trips here, Dean knew, he would be able to easily find anything. But that wasn’t the case now. Dean found himself forced to carefully scan the shelves to find his items. The end result was that he was in the store for much longer than he’d planned.

And he’d started to attract attention.

At first, Dean had responded to the looks he was getting from his fellow shoppers with slight smiles before going on his way. He was, he reasoned, a good-looking guy. If the ladies wanted to look, whatever. The guys who were looking too he didn’t judge. But even he didn’t usually attract the kind of attention he’d gathered by the time he was loading the last items into his cart and heading towards the check-out. He’d attracted a small crowd of about a dozen people that was following him around, whispering and holding up their cell phones. That was weird. Dean frowned back at his persistent admirers. There at the front was the girl in the white dress. There was no doubt in his mind now that she’d been following him. “Something I can help you with?” he asked, not bothering to disguise the irritation in his voice.

The girl was apparently video recording him. She held up her phone to Dean’s face and asked, “Are you Dean Winchester, chosen of the Archangel Michael?”

_Oh shit!_ Dean thought. _Bobby’s right, I am an idjit. I just spent the last month enjoying my fame. It hasn’t gone away just because I went underground!_ Dean gave a nervous chuckle. “No, afraid not,” he lied with a smile. “I couldn’t be that lucky. Sorry.”

It worked, to a degree. The bulk of the disappointed crowd moved off, but the girl in the white dress looked doubtful. “You look like him,” she accused. “You look just like him!”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Dean told her. “If you’ve been following me around all day trying to meet this other guy, you’ve been wasting your time. I’m not the chosen of any angel, especially not an archangel. I’m just a guy buying groceries. Excuse me.”

He pushed his cart into the line at the check-out, hoping she’d go away. She didn’t. The girl hung back with a couple of other girls, still apparently filming Dean while her friends tapped away at their cell phones. Dean had a sneaking suspicion that she’d been posting things online. Judging by the way her fingers were flying over the screen of her phone, she was probably still at it.

There was a commotion at the front, about five more young girls rushing into the store to whisper excitedly with their friends. They quickly conferred with the girl in the white dress. Her finger pointed at Dean. Yup, she’d definitely been posting things online. Word was spreading that Dean Winchester, the chosen of the Archangel Michael, was shopping for groceries and toilet paper. Dean had no idea how that even made sense, but apparently, it didn’t matter. Word was spreading, and the girl’s loyal followers were converging on the store, eager for a selfie with him.

This was not good.

Dean turned his back on the girls and anxiously waited his turn at the check-out. He needed to get out and fast. He checked his watch. Two and a half hours?! He’d just spent two and a half hours, roaming around in the town away from the cabin and protection of the most complex and powerful of the angel wards. The wards in Baby, he had to admit, he wasn’t quite sure of. Forget the girl in the white dress and her fangirl friends, Dean had far bigger concerns. What if the angels could somehow monitor social media? Dean knew how many people followed news of chosen candidates. Normal choosings tended to be highly followed. Anything above standard created a frenzy. A platinum-level angel choosing a candidate, well, Dean had already experienced what accompanied that, hadn’t he?

Dean had little doubt that what was going out now would probably go viral. Word was spreading fast. Blue Eyes could show up at any second. Dean tried to be nonchalant while looking everywhere at once, praying that the cashier would hurry up before a familiar trench coat appeared. He needed to get out of here, and fast!

Finally, it was his turn. Dean anxiously waited for his total, tapped his card, and quickly signed the credit screen. Another minute and he’d be out of here.

A shrill fangirl scream erupted right in his ear. He whirled to see that the girl in the white dress had gotten into the line behind him. In his concern over Blue Eyes, he hadn’t realized that she’d just trained her cell phone camera on the screen, watching as he’d signed his name to pay for his groceries. Now she was going ballistic. “It’s him!” she screamed. “He just signed ‘Dean Winchester!’ He’s the Archangel Michael’s chosen candidate! It’s really him!”

More screams. Dean grabbed his bags and tried to escape but was suddenly surrounded. Chaos. Shopping carts were abandoned in the aisles as shoppers raced towards the front of the store. Cell phones were everywhere. People shoved and jostled each other, trying to get selfies with Dean. Everyone was talking at once. Some were crying, sobbing about what an honor it was to meet him. One of the store employees was praying loudly over the loudspeaker. Someone embraced Dean, followed by two more sets of arms when he managed to pry them off. Dean couldn’t move. He couldn’t push his way through the crowd. Hands tugged at his arms, dragging him this way and that. Someone fell and was ignored as even more people raced into the store to join the throng around Dean. The cashier climbed over the conveyor to dive forward, throwing her arms around his neck. Dean nearly fell over. “Get off me! Come on, stop!”

“Michael?” the cashier asked, peering into Dean’s eyes. “Archangel, can you hear me? You’ve taken your vessel by now, right?”

“Um… Yeah,” Dean said, thinking fast as he pried people off. “We’re, um, spending some time on Earth, like humans. You know, to learn how they’re doing? So if everyone would just stop,” he called, raising his voice, “we’re really trying to keep a low profile.”

Unfortunately, Dean’s announcement did not have the desired effect. More screams rose around him. Several people fell to their knees, praying loudly. Not good. Angels, Dean knew, could hear prayers. Now even the store manager was standing on one of the conveyers with his arms raised. “Praise him!” he yelled. “Praise the archangel Michael!”

“Yeah, great,” Dean grunted. “Listen, there’s really no need to make this much of a fuss, ok? What part of ‘trying to keep a low profile’ did you miss? We don’t need prayers or praise. We just want to get these groceries and get going!”

“Oh, don’t be so modest,” a familiar voice called, somehow cutting through the crowd. “I think it’s high time that you went back to the splendor you belong in, don’t you?”

Fuck. Dean didn’t have to turn to know whose powerful hand had just landed on his arm. His heart sank. “Fancy meeting you here,” he grumbled.

“I should say the same,” the angel replied. His grip tightened to just shy of painful. “This certainly wasn’t my first choice of locations. But we do have a lot to talk about. Why don’t we discuss it somewhere else?”

And just like that, Dean found himself elsewhere.


	4. Compromised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the candidate in hand, all that's left is to bring him to the archangel. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By request, I have fleshed out the tags a bit to include character names. As I'm still working on this story, it's possible tags could change. However, I have even gone to the trouble of listing the character names in alphabetical order by first name. Hopefully, that should appease even a certain anal retentive marine *smooch*

The angel could not wait until Michael took his vessel. Dean Winchester had somehow managed to hide for entirely too long. Where he’d been until now still remained a mystery. Even physically touching Winchester, he could barely sense him. Being renounced was creating serious problems. If it hadn’t been for Uriel’s idea of watching human social media, he never would have known the candidate had come out of hiding. Fortunately, humans were apparently fond of posting immediately any time they encountered a chosen candidate. A platinum level candidate like Winchester had been big news, quickly spreading through the internet. Winchester’s fate had been all but sealed once the humans around him started praying. It had been better than a homing beacon. All the angel had to do was swoop in and collect him.

How he was going to explain all this to Michael was something he would think about later.

For some reason, Winchester still didn’t rejoice. They were standing together in the grassy meadow where the angel traditionally took candidates to explain things to them before they became vessels. Once that was understood, he’d intended to casually explain his own situation. He’d make Winchester understand the problems he’d caused by renouncing his name. Naturally, once they understood each other, Winchester would reverse what he’d done, things would return to normal, and he could deliver the candidate to Michael as planned.

But the candidate wasn’t interested in listening. He was, in fact, fighting. His attention was fixated on the fact that he didn’t know where he was. Winchester had reacted poorly to this. He’d raced around, screamed for help, and generally made a nuisance of himself. When the angel had calmly informed him that there wasn’t another human around for miles, the candidate’s behavior had actually gotten worse. The angel suddenly found himself dodging thrown objects. Clumps of sod, rocks, even a pen from the candidate’s pocket had been turned into a projectile. The angel had finally had to grab his arm just to prevent the candidate from injuring himself.

Winchester was screaming blasphemous things at him as the angel calmly tried to reason with the candidate. “You’re a platinum level candidate,” the angel had reminded, dodging to avoid the fist that the candidate had just swung at him. “You’re the chosen of our top archangel. Michael is the ruler of all of Heaven, and he’s chosen you to be his vessel. It’s a huge honor! Stop this foolish behavior. You should rejoice!”

That was when the candidate had charged him, attacking the angel and swearing at the top of his lungs. “Fuck you, and fuck Michael!” the candidate roared. “I’m not letting some fucking archangel use me like a fucking angel condom. I don’t care who it is, what he rules, or anything else about him. No one is wearing me to the prom! Find someone else, because I don’t want it! Leave me alone!”

The whole thing was completely undignified. Irritated, the angel resorted to grabbing both the candidate’s arms to try to hold him still. “You’re not making sense,” the angel told him. “You are the one who was chosen. Why would you even consider passing the honor to another?”

“Because it’s not an honor!”

“It’s precisely what you agreed to when you became a candidate,” the angel reminded.

“I didn’t agree to anything! My dad dragged me to get registered when I was a kid. I never had a choice!” The candidate strained, trying to twist his arms free. He kicked at the angel. “I don’t want to be a vessel. I don’t want some stupid archangel inside of me, using me like a sock puppet. I don’t want to go with you. I want to go home! This is kidnapping! Take me back! Now!”

The angel tilted his head to the side, frowning in confusion at the candidate. He hadn’t had a choice? Still, the candidate surely couldn’t mean what he’d just said. “It appeared you were being attacked back in that business,” he pointed out. “You seemed to be very uncomfortable. Now you wish to return to that situation?”

“Anything’s better than this,” the candidate declared, still struggling to get free. “Let go of me!”

The angel let him go.

The candidate, who had still been straining with all his strength, promptly fell backwards, landing flat on his back. Even with the grass, it was a hard landing. The impact generated an “oomph!” sound, and for a moment, the candidate was still. Then he was scrabbling to his feet. A moment later, he was running away as fast as his bowed legs could carry him.

The angel sighed and flew forward, appearing directly in front of the candidate. “Why are you running?” he asked as the candidate bounced off of his chest and sprawled backwards onto the ground once more. “Regardless of how you became a candidate, you are one. Now you’ve been chosen for a great honor. Don’t you understand that you are a platinum level candidate? It’s the highest of honors! There’s no other angel who…”

“I don’t give a shit,” the candidate wheezed. This second impact with the ground seemed to have caused him some breathing difficulties. “I don’t care if you want me for the platinum archangels of Heaven or some standard class button pusher. I don’t want to be an angel vessel! Why can’t you understand that?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense,” the angel explained. “To be chosen as a vessel is the greatest honor a human can have. My own was still weeping tears of joy as I took him.”

“And what kind of tears is he weeping now?”

The angel frowned. “He’s not weeping at all. See?” He pointed to his eyes.

“You’re not weeping,” the candidate corrected, getting to his feet. “I’m talking about the poor sod you’re wearing. Is he even there anymore?”

“Of course he is,” the angel said, confused. “He still resides in this vessel.”

“And what’s that like for him?”

The angel blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I said.” The candidate was looking hard into the angel’s eyes now, as though searching for the human in them. “What happened to the guy you’re wearing? Is he conscious? Does he know what you’re doing, while you’re wearing his body?”

The angel blinked again. He considered the question. “In truth, I never thought about it,” he admitted. “My candidate was collected for me after I chose him, just as I collected you for Michael. He came with his collector without a fuss, ready and willing to have me take him. He understood the honor he was receiving, and was happy to become my vessel.”

The angel had hoped the candidate would take the hint, but Winchester’s face was set in stone. “And how’s he been since then?” the candidate asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, humans all over the planet are being fed this story that becoming an angel vessel means entering into a partnership,” Winchester explained. He’d started pacing, walking around the angel as he spoke. “We know the angels run things. We’re hearing that it’s a huge honor. We’ll live for a couple of centuries, we’ll be the means through which angels will continue to protect us, blah blah blah. Bottom line is, everyone thinks they’ll have a hand in how things are run. But it’s not true.”

“Of course it’s true!” the angel exclaimed. “Every word of that is true. Through candidacy, humans are selected to be lifelong partners with angels. Together, they rule the planet. That’s why it’s such an honor!”

The candidate had completed his circle. Now he scoffed directly into the angel’s face. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bullshit,” Winchester repeated. “A partnership is where two parties have equal, or at least similar, power. But human vessels and the angels that take them don’t have that. To prove it, I’d like you to answer my question. How has the human you’re wearing been since you took him?”

“I… I don’t know,” the angel confessed. “I have no need for him, only for his vessel.”

“So, he’s just in there?” Winchester pressed. “He’s somewhere in the back of his own mind, watching through eyes he can’t control as you go about your business and completely ignore him?”

The angel nodded. “Yes, that’s right, and he has the honor of being my vessel, allowing me to do my work through him. It’s a perfect partnership.”

The candidate clenched his fists. “How the hell is that a partnership? It’s not being a partner, it’s being a prisoner in your own body! And you never thought about it, did you? You never gave a single thought to what that must be like for him. Try to imagine it. Imagine being shoved into a tiny space in your mind while someone else takes over your body. Imagine what he must have felt when you took him over and just shut him away. You haven’t so much as thought about him! He’s been trapped and alone since the day you took him, after he expected some kind of amazing partnership? He must have been screaming!”

The angel thought back to the day he’d taken his vessel. The human, he remembered, had been anxious to welcome him. He’d shut the human away and had gone about his business, but… “You’re right,” he realized. “He was screaming. But it’s ok. I shut him away and didn’t pay attention, and eventually, he stopped. I’ve had this vessel for about a decade now, but he hasn’t made so much as a sound.”

“You broke him.” The candidate’s voice was low. “He screamed until his mind broke. Now he’s in some corner, probably rocking back and forth and sucking his thumb, mind completely gone. He’s been trapped in there for a decade?” Winchester shook his head sadly. “There probably isn’t anything left of him, is there? Do you ever let him out?”

“Of course not!”

“So, you just keep him locked away. That’s perfect.” Winchester shook his head in disgust. “Even if you go, that poor bastard probably won’t survive.”

“No,” the angel admitted. “When we take new vessels, the old ones usually die quickly. By the time we leave them, the bodies are breaking down anyway.”

“So he’s doomed. And the worst part is that you don’t give a shit!”

“That’s his destiny,” the angel insisted. “His ultimate honor. Human vessels are rare. It’s why we give candidates a lunar month before we take them and encourage procreation.”

“Have us breed more vessels for you to take,” Winchester said bitterly. “I’m fully aware that you guys encourage that! When you showed up, I pretty much gave up. Alcohol, drugs, sex, all I wanted was to drown myself. And that last part, for sure, you most certainly encouraged. Your human candidate handlers were at my door the next day, ready to take ‘samples’ for ‘banking’ and start the lottery. A lottery, for fuck’s sake! Women who’d signed up specifically for the purpose of procreating with a chosen candidate. Every night, they were sending an eligible, fertile and eager woman to me. Didn’t matter what else I did, so long as I was with them first. Sammy refused, but me? I just didn’t care anymore. Then, when I was done with the woman they sent, I had more waiting who’d come out to find me on their own. Even men wanted to be with me, because there was such a frenzy about me being chosen. No matter how bad I got, I had two or three partners at least, lined up for me every night. Because you encourage it! Hell, you even wait for female candidates who get pregnant to have their babies before you take them, because you want candidates to make babies. More bodies you can wear while you shove the humans inside into a corner of their own minds to break. Frankly, I’m ashamed of myself, that I gave in and did it when I should have been fighting from the start!” Dean threw an arm out towards the horizon. “Somewhere out there, I probably have kids waiting to be born, just so you can get them breeding more candidates to shove more angels into. That’s what you’re expecting me to rejoice about? Why the hell would I rejoice? The moment Michael takes me, I’m worse than dead, and any kids I made this past month could be someday facing the same bullshit!”

The entire conversation was troubling the angel. Still, he had his orders. “I’m not going to argue this nonsense with you any longer,” he told the candidate. “I need to prepare you for what’s going to happen next.”

“Prepare me?”

“To properly greet your archangel.” The candidate was impossible, but the angel soldiered on. “You need to understand, an archangel requires a certain amount of respect. It’s up to me to teach you that before I take you to him.”

“Actually, you don’t have to worry about it.” The candidate’s voice was suddenly surprisingly pleasant. “You don’t have to prepare me for anything.”

The angel gave him a puzzled frown. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re not taking me anywhere!” The candidate quickly bent down. Something, it was a lighter, sparked in his hand.

Suddenly, flames roared up around the angel. He gasped, realizing immediately that this was no ordinary fire. “What is this?” he exclaimed, turning around to find himself surrounded. “What have you done?”

“I poured a circle of holy oil around you.” The candidate was smug now. “Now you’re trapped, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” The angel clenched his fists. “Stop this foolishness at once! Let me out!”

“Mmmm, nah, I don’t think so.” The candidate actually turned his back on the angel and walked away a bit. Digging in one pocket, he found his cell phone. Ignoring the sputtering angel, he quickly made a call. “Bobby, it’s me. Listen, I tried to call you earlier, but… Yes, I know you’re busy, but… Yeah, it kind of was important! Why didn’t I leave you a message? Er, never mind that now. Listen, I’ve got a problem. Yes, it’s serious. You know that angel who’s after me? He, um, kind of came back. How did he find me? Well, that’s not really important. It is? Right, well, I may have, um, gone into town for supplies, and…”

Whoever Winchester was speaking to apparently reacted quite loudly to that bit of information. Winchester winced and held the phone away from his ear for a moment. “Listen, Bobby, you can scream or kick my ass or whatever you feel is necessary later. Right now, I need your help! The stupid angel took me out into the middle of some damned field in… Hang on.” He did something to his phone, swore, and put it back to his ear. “Son of a bitch dragged me clear out to South Dakota! Yes, I’m serious, why would I lie about that? I have no clue how the hell I’m getting back home, Bobby, but that’s for another time. Listen, I’ve got the angel trapped in a circle of burning holy oil.”

The angel had already discovered that for himself. He’d done a complete circle of the narrow space where he’d been confined, confirmed that there was no exit, and now stood glaring at the candidate. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so humiliated and furious with a simple human.

Meanwhile, the human had moved off, still talking to someone called “Bobby” on his cell phone. The angel could no longer hear him. He did another circuit of his fiery prison. The container the candidate had hidden somewhere on his person couldn’t have been very large. That meant this oil would soon burn down. Right? How many containers did Winchester have? Now it was hard to even see the candidate. The burning oil had set the grass on fire. Thick smoke was rising, obscuring his view. It was fortunate the grass was damp from a recent rain or it was possible this entire field could go up.

The candidate had apparently finished his phone call and was walking back towards the angel. “Let me out,” the angel ordered.

“Don’t think so.”

The candidate had removed a small plastic bottle from a pocket. He quickly walked around the angel, emptying the contents of the bottle into the flaming circle. Now the flames were even higher. They singed at his Grace. The angel was forced to remain in the center of the circle to avoid injury. Even his wings on the ethereal plane were in danger of scorching, tucked as they were against his back. “No more!” the angel cried out, alarmed. “Let me out. Please!”

“Oh, it’s manners now?” It was hard to see the candidate through the thick smoke and wavering heat. “You didn’t say please when you dragged me off. But now I have the upper hand, it’s all politeness!”

“You don’t understand!”

“What don’t I understand?” Winchester challenged. “How it feels to be trapped? To be completely helpless? Because believe me, I understand that very well! It’s exactly how I felt when you took me here!”

“You don’t understand that this ground isn’t even!” the angel yelled frantically. “Holy oil is a liquid. It runs downhill. You just poured more of it, it’s running down the slope, and now this circle is closing!” Already, pain was lancing through his Grace. He’d turned, trying to move his delicate wings away from the flames, but the trickle of burning oil was forcing him back, into grass already saturated and alight with flames that licked at his wings. Instantly, they caught, flames roaring through the celestial matter as though through dry kindling. He screamed. “Please! Let me out!”

“Oh fuck! Hang on!”

His wings were burning. Agony transformed him from a celestial wavelength into a living embodiment of pain. But suddenly, soothing coolness. Somehow, a small section of flames had been tamped down. Arms wrapped around him. The angel felt himself dragged back.

Then he was lying on the ground. His wings smoldered, sending fresh waves of pain through his being that made his entire form shudder. Through the pain, he registered hands slapping at him. “Shit, shit, shit!” a familiar voice chanted. “Oh, shit, please tell me you’re alright? I swear I didn’t mean to set you on fire!”

He was anything but alright. He could barely manage a low moan in response.

The candidate cautiously climbed off of him, took hold of his arms, and dragged him further away from the flames. That was better. He whimpered, blinking up at the sun.

A head suddenly blocked it out. The candidate was peering down at him, frowning in confusion. “That’s funny,” Winchester muttered. “It really looked for a moment there like you’d just gone up like a torch, but except for a few scorch marks here and there, you’re fine. What the hell is wrong with you?”

So much was wrong with him. His wings ached. The angel moaned again, rolling over onto his stomach in preparation of getting to his hands and knees. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain from his wings, making him cry out and curl up on the grass.

“You’d better not be faking it,” the candidate warned. “Because I swear, if you are...?” He paused, looking at the angel. “Holy shit, you’re not faking it, are you? You’re really messed up somehow! Listen, all I wanted was for you to leave me alone. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m afraid your intention matters very little right now,” the angel hissed through clenched teeth.

“Right. Um, can you get up? I may be bigger than you are, but I really don’t think I can carry you far.”

The angel managed to get the limbs of his vessel working. Pain still throbbed through him from his burned wings. His vision blurred, but he managed to get to his knees. Hands tugged at him, bringing him up to his feet. He swayed for a bit before managing his balance.

The candidate watched him warily. He turned, looked back at the fire, and swore. Running towards it, he pulled a burning leather jacket from the flames. So that was how he’d gotten out, the angel realized. The candidate had thrown his leather jacket over the flames, tamping them down enough to pull him out. Now he was stomping on the jacket, attempting to put the flames out. Holy oil was tenacious. The angel eyed the battered jacket and thought it looked the way he felt.

“Well, shit,” the candidate sighed. “That was my good leather jacket. You owe me big time!” He fished into the pockets, removing some items that he then shoved into the pockets of his jeans as he spoke. “At least my wallet and car keys seem to have survived. I would have kicked your feathered ass if I’d lost my car keys. Aw, no! My cell phone!” He dropped the ruined jacket, holding up the shattered remains of a cell phone. “I must have stomped on it by mistake,” the candidate moaned. “Dammit! How the hell am I getting back now?”

“I certainly can’t take you,” the angel grumbled.

The candidate raised an eyebrow at him. “Why not?”

In answer, the angel spread his wings. Doing so sent new waves of pain through him, but he needed to know how bad the damage was.

It was bad, far worse than he’d thought. His wings were blackened and charred. As he spread them, bits of burned feathers fell. The scent was enough to make him gag.

As though echoing the angel’s thoughts, the candidate doubled over and retched. “Oh, fuck me! Your wings, they’re... Oh, shit, I’m sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to set you on fire, alright? I just needed to stop you from taking me!”

“I would say you have succeeded,” the angel grumbled. He winced as he closed his wings, returning them to the ethereal plane. “It will take weeks for them to heal to the point I can fly again. I have been badly injured.”

The candidate’s face suddenly grew sly. “Weeks, you say? And you’re the only one who can give me to the archangel, right?”

“Yes!” The angel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I can’t bring you to Michael like this. I can’t complete my mission! And no other angel can do it. If I can’t bring you to Michael, no one can!”

He looked up when the candidate suddenly laughed. “Yes! YES!” Winchester called, pumping a fist in the air. The candidate caught sight of the angel’s face and suddenly stilled, grimacing. “I’m seriously sorry about your wings, dude. I did not mean to do that. But if you can’t take me to Michael, that pretty much means he has to select another vessel, right?”

“It’s not possible,” the angel sighed, miserable. “His name has been placed onto you, so you are the only one he can have. But without me to bring him to you?” He drooped, miserable. “The only thing that will allow him to be able to take you now is my death.”

“Your death?”

The angel nodded. “That’s the only way another candidate can be assigned.”

“So as long as you’re alive,” the candidate clarified, speaking slowly, “no one else can take me?”

He nodded again. “I have utterly and completely failed.”

“Cool!” The candidate eyed him. “So, um, what are you going to do now?”

The angel was sitting down on the grass, drawing his knees to his chest. “I’ve failed my mission,” he repeated. “Should I survive until my wings heal, I’ll likely be demoted to standard class. But I find it unlikely that I will survive that long.”

The candidate frowned. “You think Mikey’s going to send a kill squad after you?”

“That is possible,” the angel sighed. “Likely, eventually. But I doubt he’d need to bother with such a thing.”

“What do you mean?”

Humans were so dense sometimes. The angel rolled his eyes. “What do I mean? I can’t fly. That means I’m trapped here on Earth, a wounded angel disgraced from Heaven. The demons will surely find me before too long. I imagine I’ll find myself destroyed or dragged to Hell well before my wings heal or my brethren come for me.”

“Destroyed or dragged to Hell?” The candidate’s eyes had grown wide. “So what are you going to do?”

The angel shrugged. “I guess I’ll just wait here then.”

Winchester stared at him. Then he stomped over, grabbed the angel’s arm, and pulled him to his feet. “Not happening. You’re getting up, and you’re coming with me. You and I are going to make a deal.”

“We are?”

“We are,” the candidate insisted. “I’ll help you, protect you from demons and angels, and look after you until your wings heal. Least I can do, seeing as how I’m the one who burned them up in the first place. But I haven’t forgotten the reason I set that fire, ok? You need to promise me two things. First, you’ll hide me from your fellow flying dicks. And second, you won’t drag me off once you’re fully fledged again.”

“I can’t promise that,” the angel growled. “It’s my mission to bring you to Heaven to become Michael’s vessel!”

“Ugh, would you at least consider it?!” Winchester exclaimed. “You said it will take a few weeks for your wings to heal. So, we’re both going to have to lie low if we’d like to keep out of Heaven’s radar, right? Give me that time to try to get you to understand why this isn’t some big honor. Try to understand my side of things, why I don’t want to do this. Would you do that, at least?”

The angel squinted at him, head cocked. “Alright. I’ll consider it.”

“Good. Now tell me how we’re going to hide from the God mob when we’re stuck out in the middle of a freaking field?”

In answer, the angel brushed a hand over the candidate’s chest. The candidate yelped and jumped back, guarding his chest and staring wildly at the angel. “What the hell did you just do?”

“I carved runes into your ribs,” the angel explained, speaking slowly so the foolish human could understand. “Isn’t that what you just asked me to do? To hide you from, as you so quaintly put it, the ‘God mob?’”

For some reason, the candidate burst out laughing. “Dude, I cannot believe that you just made air quotes with your fingers.”

The angel elected not to dignify that with a response. Instead, he straightened his trench coat, looking with irritation at the scorched marks. “I’m waiting for the rest of your plan.”

“Right!” The candidate looked around. “Um, do you have any idea where we are?”

“Of course I do.”

“I was kind of counting on that,” the candidate admitted. “We need to get into town, get to a phone, and get back to my friend Bobby. He can help me convince you, not to mention keep you safe from the angels and demons!” He shuddered. “Demons. We know all about angels, or thought we did. The idea they might kill you just to get to me is a hard cheese to swallow all on its own. But I never really considered actual demons being out there. I guess, with you guys roaming around, they keep a pretty low profile?”

The observation was so obvious that the angel didn’t deign to acknowledge it. He simply started walking, heading towards the closest town, and wondered just what it was he’d agreed to?


	5. Traveling Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling with an angel presents its own unique challenges

Hours later, Dean was on a bus with the angel sitting next to him. Dean felt he deserved some kind of award for having accomplished that particular feat. It had taken them miles of walking to get to town. Dean had been forced to spend the entire time arguing with Angel about why he shouldn’t just announce to everyone that he was an Angel of the Lord and required assistance. Funny thing about being the ultimate rulers of the planet, Dean mused. You tended to have a bit of a trouble with the concept of keeping a low profile. Angel clearly wasn’t in love with the idea. But at least he’d agreed to try things Dean’s way, for now.

Once they’d reached town, Dean had gotten Angel to go into a gas station and purchase a hat and shades. The last thing Dean wanted was a repeat of what had happened at the store. But unfortunately, that had been harder than it needed to be. While he had an expense account he could use for candidates, Angel had no real concept of money or trade. It wasn’t until Dean saw Angel stalking out of the store, followed by a furious, screaming shopkeeper that he’d realized his mistake. Not wanting to draw attention to any use of Heaven’s account, Dean had pulled what little cash he had left from his wallet and had given it to Angel to use. Apparently, the angel had marched in, thrown the money in the clerk’s face, told the poor man what he’d wanted and demanded the items be handed over to him. It had taken some fast talking on Dean’s part to get the clerk to calm down and sell them the items. Dean obviously still had work to do in order to convince his new traveling companion that this sort of thing was the opposite of what they were trying to do. The only way they were getting through this was if they stayed well under the radar.

In the end, though, Dean wondered if he’d needed to bother with a disguise? Angel attracted so much attention to himself that Dean might as well have been invisible. While Dean had managed to talk him out of announcing who he was to the entire world, the way he acted was drawing looks anyway. The angel had no concept of personal space. He stood so close behind people while they waited in line for their tickets that they’d ended up moved to the front of the line, simply because people kept stepping aside and waving them irritably ahead. Then there was the way the angel stared at people, or his blunt way of speaking to them. By the time Angel got slapped by a hooker in the terminal for telling her about her father, Dean had been forced to quietly suggest Angel just stay close to Dean and not say anything.

Unfortunately, shortly after the bus pulled out of the station, the angel apparently felt he’d been silent long enough. “The woman in front of us has made some poor choices for hygiene,” he announced, breaking into Dean’s thoughts. “She should perhaps use more soap and less perfume.”

The woman gave a lout harrumph and pretended to ignore them, although her cheeks burned red. The kid across the aisle giggled. Dean quickly got up, got Angel to move into the window seat, and took over the aisle seat. At least this way he could barricade the angel in if he said anything too stupid. “Angel, you don’t mention people’s hygiene habits, ok?” he hissed.

Angel frowned. “Why not? This entire bus can smell her.”

The woman made an irritated noise and moved to another seat. Dean sighed. “Ok, I will admit it’s a better ride now without having Mrs. French Bath in front of us, but...”

“The issue isn’t that she bathed in France, it’s that she hasn’t bathed at all,” Angel explained helpfully. “Although if she was in France and it took her some time to...”

“Here,” Dean said, handing him a newspaper he’d picked up at the terminal. “Read this and shut up, ok?”

That had won him five minutes of blessed silence from his new companion. Dean had just started to relax when Angel announced, “There is an article here about you.”

“Dude, shut up!” Dean whispered, glancing around to see if anyone noticed. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. He leaned over to peer over Angel’s shoulder. “Where?”

“I thought you said it was rude to get so close to someone?”

“Shut up, keep your voice down, and show me the article!”

Angel pointed. Sure enough, there was a story at the bottom of the front page about him. The fact that the “Blessed Candidate of the Archangel Michael” had been seen out shopping had made the news. “Must be a slow news day,” Dean grumbled, annoyed. “I saw nothing about myself in the news for the past week, now I’m in it for shopping?”

“Naturally,” Angel said. “The month is over. If the demons found out Michael’s candidate has yet to be collected, it would make you a prime target. Even assuming I’m with you, there’s no doubt they’ll be watching.”

Dean groaned. “Keeping under cover is going to be hard as hell if I make the news every time someone recognizes me.”

“It was quite easy to find you, once your fellow humans noticed you,” Angel said. He seemed quite proud.

“Ok, one, fuck you, and two, that’s a bad thing right now, not a good one!” Dean reminded. “I don’t want to get dragged to Heaven any more than you want to get killed or dragged to Hell.”

That made the angel frown. “I still do not understand that.”

“I know you don’t.” Dean patted his companion’s arm. “We’ll talk about it, just, you know, not here, ok?” He rubbed at his chest. “I still can’t get over that you just carved shielding runes right into my ribs! That’s awesome and sucks at the same time. You’re sure angels can’t find me with these?”

The angel gestured towards the paper. “As you can see, you are front page news. It’s no different with Heaven. I was expected to bring you to Michael weeks ago. My friend, Uriel...”

“You have a friend named Urinal?”

“Uriel,” the angel corrected irritably. “It is important that you do not mangle our names, Candidate!”

“Sorry, Angel, but your names are stupid.”

“You are infuriating!” The angel’s eyes were narrow now, glaring angrily at Dean. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You have no bond to Uriel, and therefore no power over him.”

It was an odd thing to say. Dean had opened his mouth to ask about it, but Angel had already moved on. “Uriel has been stalling for me. He is only silver level. Michael likely barely knows his name, so his influence is quite limited. But Uriel has been suggesting many grand ceremonies and events for Michael in Heaven, to celebrate his decision to come to Earth to rule. Meanwhile, I was supposed to bring you to a kind of green room, keep you safe until he's ready to collect you.” Angel cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “We, um, let him know you were less than willing. Michael believes you’re being educated on how to be a proper vessel while he enjoys the acclaim. He always was one to enjoy pomp and circumstance, but in time, even he will tire of it. He’ll want to come to Earth. That’s when he’ll start to wonder where his vessel is.”

“What’s with that, anyway?” Dean wanted to know. “Why all the sudden is he so keen to come to Earth?”

“As you know, humans have proven that they’re not capable of taking care of themselves,” the angel announced. “Had we not come to Earth and made our presence known, taken over?”

“Yeah, I read the history books,” Dean grumbled. “My dad was still in the Army during the Angel War. I know that the angels left the human governments in place, but each government has to report to its own ruling silver level angel, who reports to their gold level commander, who eventually reports to one of the archangels. But the silver guys seemed to have things pretty well in hand. I mean, they report up the chain and take orders that come down. So where’s the need for the big guns to suddenly show up?”

“One ‘Big Gun,’ as you call it, took it upon himself to come to Earth,” Angel explained, again making the air quotes with his fingers that Dean couldn’t help but smile at. “He had every right, but he did so of his own accord. And since he was on the Earth, he started exercising more and more control over Earth matters.”

Dean’s smile vanished. “You mean Detroit.”

“Yes,” Angel said, not catching the shift in Dean’s mood. “Eventually, he’d established his own kingdom there, one that continues to spread to the point that the other archangels took notice. Now Michael is coming down himself to reset the status quo.”

Dean went silent. Even the socially-awkward angel eventually realized it and frowned. “Something is wrong?”

“It’s just that I know exactly who that first archangel was,” Dean grumbled. “The candidate he chose was my brother.”

“Your brother?” The angel smiled. “Your family has been greatly honored!”

“Put a sock in it, would you?” Dean snapped. “We’re going to agree to disagree about the honor thing for right now.”

The smile immediately morphed into a frown. “I do understand that you don’t wish to debate that subject, but where, exactly, should I put a sock?”

“Just shut up and read your paper.”

Angel side eyed him for a moment. He returned to the paper.

Bored, Dean continued to read over his shoulder. He brightened when he spotted an ad. “Hey,” he asked, “those wards you put on my ribs. They shield me from angels, right?”

“Yes,” Angel confirmed. “You are hidden from the angels, and they would have no interest in finding me now. They’ll just wait for the demons to destroy me, so they can send another to collect you. It will take some time before they decide to take action themselves.”

The sad resignation in his voice made Dean wince, but he moved on. “So, are there also wards to shield us from demons?”

“Any demon who directly saw me would know exactly what I was,” Angel pointed out. “No warding can disguise my Grace. The best I could do would be to use that Grace as little as possible and hide behind wards that might dim it further.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

Angel sighed. “Yes, to a point. However, using my Grace to carve those wards into myself wouldn’t work. My body would heal the damage.”

“I wasn’t thinking about carving,” Dean explained. “It’s the wards themselves, not the medium they’re in, that work, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct?”

Dean grinned and tapped on the ad. “That’s in the town we’ll be stopping to change buses, isn’t it? Awesome! I always wanted a tattoo.”

****

“Stop picking at it,” Dean ordered.

Angel, who had once again been messing with the dressing on his chest, glowered at Dean. “I still don’t understand why you insisted I also get angel warding,” he grumbled. “I told you, Heaven has no interest in me now.”

“Well, it’s still a good idea,” Dean argued. “Someone might get wise, figure out you’re the best person to find me, and come by for a chat or something. And besides, if they start getting murdery ideas, it’s best you’re hidden sooner rather than later. Hey!” He slapped at Angel’s hand as it again inched towards the dressing. “Leave it alone!”

Angel made an irritated sound and turned his back on Dean. At least his hands remained down, away from the dressing.

Dean ignored him, focused on the bad take-out food he was trying to eat, and asked himself again why he’d even bothered dealing with this stupid angel? Part of him was still berating himself for not just letting the fire do its job. But Dean knew he couldn’t just stand back and listen to the angel scream in pain as the fire consumed him. He was a mechanic, not a murderer. He wasn’t even a soldier, like his father and Bobby had been. He was only a man, trapped by circumstances beyond his control.

Now that he thought about it, he and Angel had that much in common.

His eyes moved back to his companion. Angel was sitting on the bed in the motel room, staring moodily out the window. Truth be told, Dean realized, Angel hadn’t wanted to be assigned to Dean any more than Dean had asked to be chosen. The son of a bitch was just following orders. Dean certainly hadn’t done the poor bastard any favors. Now he honestly believed that, if demons didn’t kill him, his own fellow angels would, just so Michael could take Dean. What kind of asshole was Michael, anyway? It wasn’t like Angel didn’t try his hardest to do his job! If he’d simply dragged Dean to Michael, he could have just fluttered off to his next assignment. Instead, he’d tried to talk to Dean. Look at the results.

Dean shook his head and shoved food into his mouth. He wasn’t sure exactly when it was he’d gone from hating Angel to feeling sorry for the bastard. Probably when he’d dragged his flaming ass out of the fire. Then, when he’d realized Angel was actually injured, Dean’s heart had swelled with pity. But pity was one thing. Dean could easily drop Angel off somewhere in a church or something, where he could use his status to demand protection until his wings healed. Then he could fly back to Heaven, apologize to Michael, take whatever punishment the asshole dished out and then maybe try to figure out a way to get another, willing, candidate? That was the best case scenario for Dean. Worse case, Angel could take control at any time. If he decided to chance the demons and step back into the spotlight, physically dragging Dean along with him, he could appeal to Michael and try to redeem himself right then and there. It would be up to Michael to forgive Angel or smite him on the spot. Either way, there was absolutely nothing Dean could do to stop him. No matter how sad or pitiful he seemed, Angel was just that – an angel. He was a powerful being, capable of doing things people used to believe were impossible.

The last thing Dean should be doing was take him back to the cabin. Yet that was exactly what he’d intended to do. Dean had his priorities. For the first time since that awful day he’d lost his brother, he had hope. And no amount of pity, sympathy, or fear could change his mind. He’d been given an opportunity he couldn’t afford to pass up.

Bobby. He needed to contact Bobby. Dean had spotted a pay phone outside the motel when they’d come in. Alright. Finishing up the last of his meal, Dean got up. “I need to head outside a moment,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “Just stay here.”

“I literally have nowhere else to go,” Angel grumbled.

Dean rolled his eyes and headed out. It took him three tries to get Bobby’s phone number right. He’d been spoiled by the contact list on his cell phone. Ah, modern age first world problems.

Bobby was at least calmer when he answered. “Where the hell are you?”

Dean told him. “Listen, Bobby, I need you to look through that lore and try to find a way to hold an angel.”

“Hold an angel?” Bobby echoed. “Boy, what in tarnation are you up to?”

“I’ve got the angel,” Dean explained. “I accidentally burned his wings pretty much off, so he’s stuck.”

“He’s still an angel!” Bobby yelled. “He’s probably calling down a shitload of friends right now. What the hell are you thinking?”

“No, Bobby, he’s not.” Dean explained as much of Angel’s situation as he could. “Bottom line, he’s stuck here, he’s got no one to turn to, and I even talked him into hiding himself from other angels. He’s coming with me, and he doesn’t suspect a thing. I’ve got him, Bobby!”

“Until he gets wise and snaps you in two. Dean, you know dousing him with holy oil and setting him on fire hurts them. It’s the first thing we know of that does! Soon as that fucker turns his back...”

“No!” Dean exclaimed. “No, Bobby, I am not going to kill him.”

“Give me one good reason why not?”

“Because he’s...” Dean bit back whatever he was about to say. He took a deep breath. “Because as long as he’s alive, no other angel can take me to Michael. That’s why!”

“That so?” Bobby’s voice suddenly sounded thoughtful. “So, if we can just keep him someplace nice and safe, that means you can’t ever be taken by Michael?”

“Yes! That’s why I’m calling you!” Dean gave a quick glance around, making sure Angel hadn’t decided to follow him. “Listen, this is the chance you and your angel hunter friends have been waiting for. A captured live angel. If we can control him…?”

Dean could almost hear the gears starting to turn in Bobby’s mind. “Dean, you have got to be very careful,” the old man warned. “If he’s right and demons are after you both, that’s bad enough. But if he decides that he’s better off to just face the music, calls his buddies, and drag you to Heaven anyway?”

“Nothing I can do about that,” Dean admitted. “But what other option do I have? If I ditch him, he’ll probably do exactly that anyway. Right now, he trusts me, because he believes he’s got no one else to trust. He believes that, because he’s failed at his mission, Michael’s going to kill him if the demons don’t. That’s why he’s staying with me. Now he’s hidden from the other angels and letting me take him with me. I just need to keep that trust until I get him back to the cabin. Then, you and your buddies grab him, pump him for information, and we finally have a chance to get back some of those poor people they’ve been wearing as party dresses!”

“Dean?” Bobby’s voice was gentle. “I need to make sure you understand one thing. Sam has been gone now for a year. You’ve seen the same shit I have coming out of Detroit. Even if we can get this angel to tell us how to get your brother back, how much do you think is left of Sam?” He sighed. “The last time I looked in my wife’s eyes, I knew there was nothing left of her. I know how much you want to believe Sam can be saved, but…”

Dean’s grip tightened on the phone. “Sammy’s strong,” he insisted. “He’s in there, Bobby. I know he is! You wouldn’t be alive if he wasn’t. He saved you!”

“He didn’t save your father.”

“Sammy loved our dad in his own way, but he told me more than once that you were more of a father than dad ever was,” Dean admitted. “I think maybe losing dad woke him up. Then he took over long enough for you to get away. If he was strong enough to do that, to push back an archangel? Then he’s still in there. He’s waiting for us to help him. Now we’ve got this angel, and we finally have a chance to do just that!”

“Alright, Dean,” Bobby soothed. “You just be damned careful with that angel, ya hear? If he even gets so much as a whiff of what you’re planning…? How do you know he can’t read your mind?”

“Because I thought of this plan when he told me he was going to just wait for the demons,” Dean explained. “I knew, if Heaven wouldn’t help him, we had the chance of a lifetime. And when he didn’t sense what I had in mind, and even hid me from the other angels? I can do this, Bobby. I have screwed up everything I have ever done in my life. I failed my brother…”

“You did no such thing!”

“I failed him, Bobby,” Dean insisted. “If I had been there, I could have saved him, I know it! But I wasn’t. I’m here now. I’ll bring Angel to you and the hunters, and we’ll make him tell us how to save Sammy. It’s the last and best hope he’s got.”

“Then you bring him in,” Bobby urged. “I’ll start calling, start making plans. I heard a rumor about someone or another who had shackles with Enochian runes. Maybe they’ll help if we can track ‘em down. Just keep that angel with you and under control.”

“I will,” Dean vowed.

Hanging up, Dean headed back to the motel room. Angel, he noted, was still watching out the window. Dean waved, and received a raised eyebrow and a slight nod in response.

_You’ve got to know something,_ Dean thought. _Somewhere behind those blue eyes of yours, you must know a way to free someone from an angel. And you’ll tell us. One way or another, you are going to help me save my brother!_

Dean forced his thoughts down, forced his body to relax and his face to smile as he opened the door. “Hey, Angel,” he called. “How about I teach you a game called Texas Hold ‘Em?”


	6. Storytime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why would an angel wear a trench coat?

The candidate, the angel decided, must be the single most infuriating human on the planet. The card game he’d taught him was apparently only for the purpose of being able to beat the angel. “Ha!” the candidate exclaimed, throwing his cards down on the table. “Seriously, you need to learn how to bluff.”

“Bluff,” the angel had learned, was basically lying, trying to convince the other player that the cards in your hand were better than they actually were. “I’m afraid I just don’t see the reason for it,” the angel admitted. “There’s little point for me to pretend my cards are good when they’re clearly not. And as soon as I have to display them, that becomes obvious.”

“No, see, that’s the point,” the candidate argued. “You need to act like your hand is good, not because it can beat my hand, but because it can’t. See, the biggest part of this game isn’t luck. It’s getting into the other guy’s head.” The candidate rolled his eyes. “There you go with the squinty eyes and the head tilt, you obviously don’t understand. Um, how can I explain this? You had a hand where the highest card was a king, no matches anywhere, no straight, nothing.”

“I’m aware.”

“But I was not aware,” the candidate said, “until you showed your hand. You folded right off the bat. Meanwhile, all I had was a pair of tens. It’s not that much stronger than your hand, and not something I’d be confident I could win. That lack of confidence is what you could have used to win. See, if you’d let me think you had a good hand, chances are, I would fold.”

“But my hand couldn’t beat yours?”

“Exactly! That’s why it’s a bluff. See, it’s not about if you can beat me. It’s about making me _believe_ that you can beat me.”

The angel shook his head and pushed the cards back towards the candidate. “I’m afraid I don’t understand this game.”

The candidate shrugged. “We got nothing but time. It’s going to take a couple days to get to where we’re going.”

“Where are we going, exactly?” the angel asked.

Immediately, the unreadable expression he’d come to recognize from the game went up on the candidate’s face. “Somewhere safe.”

The angel shrugged. That was the only answer the candidate had been giving him since they’d started traveling together.

“Hey, that ‘generous account’ you mentioned before,” the candidate began. “Can you access it without alerting the God Squad?”

“Probably. We collectors all have access to it, and it’s linked directly to Heaven’s main accounts. Standard level angels balance the books, but I doubt anyone really cares enough to check on the withdrawals. The money is mostly given to candidates to spend as they desire, as you’re aware.” Dean had used it to pay for the room he’d been staying in. “It will, however, come up as one of Heaven’s accounts,” the angel warned. “If you still wish to pass unnoticed, you might want to reconsider using it. If a human checks the name on the card…?”

“The jig is up.” The candidate sighed. “Thing is, my credit cards were a little heavy before. Now, with the traveling we’ll have to do, I’m pretty much running on fumes. Could you access cash?”

“Certainly.”

“Ok, we’re leaving first thing tomorrow. On the way back to the bus station, we’ll get you to an ATM and let you withdraw as much as you can. If we stick to seedy motels, they’ll accept cash without too much trouble, just like this one did. The bigger chains that require an ID we’ll have to avoid.”

The angel frowned. He reached into the pocket of his trench coat and produced a wallet. “Would anything in this help?”

The candidate’s eyes went wide. He quickly snatched the wallet and looked through it, frowning. He pulled a card out and stared at it, his expression going from surprise to anger. “You know, it’s bad enough that I thought you were going to give up the poor sod you’re wearing’s money,” he growled, “but this isn’t even the guy you’re wearing! How did you get this?”

The angel indicated his trench coat. “It was in the pocket when this was given to me.”

“Given to you.”

“That’s right.”

Winchester shook his head, shoved the card back into the wallet, and tossed it at the angel. “You’re a fucking angel! You don’t need a coat any more than you need to eat or sleep. Why the hell would you accept some poor guy’s coat, especially with his wallet in it, and never bother to give it back? It has his ID in it and everything! Did it never occur to you that he might need it?”

“No.”

The candidate scoffed. “Of course not. Why would an angel think about some poor guy’s basic human needs?”

“The ‘poor guy’ who gave me this coat didn’t have basic human needs,” the angel explained, irritated. “The ‘poor guy’ was another angel.”

“Oh.” Winchester looked confused. “Why would another angel give you his coat?”

That was a delicate question. The angel gently traced a finger down the seam of the trench coat. He’d managed to heal both his human body and his clothing of damage from the fire, although it had taken him longer than normal to accomplish that in his condition. The damage to his celestial being, especially his wings, would of course take far longer. But it was a different kind of pain he was feeling now. He shook his head. “It’s not important.”

Unfortunately, his words had the opposite effect he’d intended on the candidate. The green eyes lit up. Winchester leaned forward, hands folded on the table. “Come on, Angel, spill! We’ve got nothing else to do, TV sucks, and it’s still a few hours before I’ll want to go to sleep. It’s storytime!”

“It’s not a pleasant story,” the angel grumbled. “Suffice to say, the angel who used to own this coat left it for me before he left us.”

“I am all ears.” When the angel didn’t speak further, the candidate groaned and poked at him. “Come on! There’s obviously some history here. You have something to do with this other angel leaving you?”

“I am, in the end, the reason that he left,” the angel admitted. “I betrayed him.”

“This just keeps getting juicer and juicier. What happened? He bent your halo, stole your harp? Ooo, was there a lady angel involved? She decided to go cloud seeding with this other guy, so you had to clip his wings, so to speak?”

“It is amazing how you always wish to turn everything, no matter how serious, into a joke,” the angel snapped. “This was no simple disagreement. My fellow angels do not fraternize the way you humans do constantly. It was a serious matter, so serious that it could very well have affected your entire planet. So kindly try not to laugh about it?”

The candidate leaned back, holding up his hands. “Ok. I deserved that. This is obviously kind of a fresh wound for you, and I shouldn’t have cracked jokes about it. But I’d still like to know.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” the candidate challenged. “We’re going to be together for a while, right? We should get to know each other, understand where we’re both coming from.”

“I find it hard to understand that line of reasoning,” the angel grumbled. “I am staying with you because it is still my mission to bring you to Michael. But I have difficulty understanding why, exactly, you wish to take me along to wherever it is we’re going. If you are so concerned about me taking you, then why keep me with you? Why wouldn’t you try to escape at your first opportunity?”

It was a risky question. The idea that the candidate might run off had certainly been a concern. Even letting him go alone to wherever it was he’d gone earlier had been a risk. But for some reason, he’d believed the candidate when he’d said he would return. Winchester had done so. Asking him this question now could cause the candidate to reconsider, but he needed to know the answer.

The candidate seemed a bit surprised by the question. An odd expression, looking strangely like guilt, flashed across Winchester’s face for a moment before he smiled. “That’s the deal, right? I’m supposed to try to convince you not to take me? Us getting to know each other is part of that. Now come on.” He reached across the table again, giving the angel’s shoulder a shake. “Tell me about the trench coat.”

The angel closed his eyes for a moment. “Alright. Let me just think of how to begin.”

Winchester stayed quiet. When the angel opened his eyes, the candidate was in a posture of listening, head cocked slightly to one side, eyes fixed on the angel and hands again folded on the table. It was strange. He’d told this story to his superiors, but not to anyone else. Even when the official word came down, sealing the incident, he’d neither volunteered nor been asked for his take on the subject. No one had ever questioned before why he wore the coat. It fit him poorly, something the candidate seemed to have picked up on. Green eyes were lingering on the areas it didn’t hang naturally off of his body. The angel sighed. His fingers moved on it again, brushing along the lapel, slipping past the buttonholes. “This coat belonged to his vessel,” he began. “It was before the war, and he was stationed on Earth. His job was an important one. He was hunting down a rogue angel.”

Across the table, the chair Winchester was seated in creaked a little. He could hear a sharp intake of breath. The angel frowned, looking up to see a pair of wide green eyes. “This isn’t something I should be explaining to a human.”

Winchester shook his head. “I won’t tell if you won’t. Listen, it’s pretty clear this is a heavy burden on your shoulders. You might feel better if you get it off your chest?”

“I’m not certain how this burden moved from my shoulders to my chest, but I believe I understand the meaning behind your words.”

That earned him a nod. The candidate went still and quiet again, back in that posture of listening. The angel licked his lips, finding them a bit dry. “The rogue was a silver ranked angel, the captain of her garrison. She served under the Archangel Lucifer. Yes,” he continued, seeing his companion’s eyes widen, “the archangel your brother serves.”

“We’ll agree to disagree on the terminology you just used there for right now, Angel.”

The angel shrugged. “As you wish. Lucifer was always a bit of a rebel. He was the one to question everything, even our Father’s orders. Once, he came so close to starting an actual rebellion that all the hosts of Heaven prepared for civil war. But Michael banished him to Hell for a thousand years as punishment. Lucifer returned considerably more inclined to follow orders, but he remained a bit of a problem, resentful of Michael’s role. We frequently heard him complain about that, and about the rules we had to follow. While in Hell, he’d organized the demons and the entire plane. Maybe that taste of being in charge remained. Whatever the case, he talked a lot about free will.” The angel shook his head. “Free will. I suppose I have a bit of that now, and look at where it’s gotten me?”

Winchester didn’t answer. The angel shook his head again and continued. “The problem is that the captain, Anna was her name, so admired Lucifer that she believed everything he said. She took it to extremes, questioning her orders until eventually, she committed the greatest sin of all. She fell.”

“Fell?”

The angel gestured towards his vessel’s chest. “You know we’re not what you see before you. In Heaven, we are power incarnate, but here, on this mortal plane? We are vulnerable. We must take vessels in order to remain here and do our work. But Anna did something else. She fell from Heaven, tearing out her Grace, her power, and entered the womb of a human woman. She was born, and lived, as a human. Without her Grace, we couldn’t find her. It wasn’t until later, after her human body had grown, that she remembered what she really was. That was when she made her presence known under her human name, Anna Milton.”

The reaction was immediate. Winchester’s eyes grew huge. “Anna Milton? _The_ Anna Milton? That crazy broad who made this big angel cult and then blew everyone up right after the Angel War? I saw a documentary about her!” He paused, seeing the look on the angel’s face. “Wait. She was an angel, right? Why would she do any of that?”

“There are a few things that I suspect you don’t know,” the angel began. “First, you surely realize, knowing she was once an angel, that she was not a ‘crazy broad.’ And her ‘cult,’ as you call it, was not a cult. Once Anna realized she used to be an angel, she lost all interest in humans. All of those whom she’d gathered to her were angels, in human vessels, that she’d persuaded to rebel and join her. Anna never blew up herself or her followers. The angels did that. It was a group hand-selected by Michael himself, including some of the members of her former garrison.” He ran his fingers down the hem of the coat again. “Their leader was my friend.”

“Oh.” Winchester winced. “I take it he had some regrets?”

“He’d gone to her, before the attack,” the angel explained. “He spoke with Anna, tried to reason with her. But she was adamant that free will was worth the cost of her Grace, worth giving up everything to obtain. The angels she’d managed to persuade to join her were mostly standard class. It wasn’t difficult for a group of skilled angelic warriors to defeat and destroy them all.”

“So it wasn’t a bomb?” The candidate scoffed. “I guess someone should have figured that out. I mean, I saw what was left of that place in the documentary. It was just one huge, smoking crater. There were all kinds of theories about who Anna Milton really was, how she’d been able to persuade all these ordinary people from all walks of life to join her, and how she’d managed to get her hands on a bomb big enough to do that. I guess when you consider those people were all angel vessels and it was angel-on-angel violence, it all makes sense.”

“Except it didn’t make sense, not to my friend. The things Anna said to him haunted him. All of his existence, he had followed orders. But now, he questioned who it was he served? He remained on Earth, keeping the peace on this planet, and kept asking questions. We knew our Father had left us, but we didn’t know why. The archangels told us it was because we’d established ourselves here on Earth so well that He’d left the planet in our hands and gone on to form new worlds, but was that true? Or had Anna seen the truth, started spreading it to others, and been eliminated as a result?”

“What was your friend’s name?”

That made the angel glower at him. “Why should I tell you his name,” he challenged, “when you refuse to say mine?”

The green eyes shifted rapidly for a moment before settling on the angel. The lips curled into a scowl. “Whatever, just tell the story.”

Somehow, the angel hadn’t expected things to be that easy. He sighed and went on. “The last time I spoke with him, he was saying things that were nearly blasphemous. What if God hadn’t left because He’d entrusted the Earth to us? What if, as Anna suggested, He’d left because we’d so disappointed Him that He could no longer bear to be near us? Free will had always been the domain of humanity, but why them alone? Why couldn’t angels have free will? And what right did we have to impinge on that free will by enforcing our rules and laws?”

The angel noticed the candidate straighten quickly, but thought little of it. His mind was awash in memories. “I begged him to put these thoughts aside,” he continued. “I reminded him of his value to Heaven. But it seemed he barely heard me. When we parted ways, he told me that, if he should choose to do the unthinkable and rebel? He would leave me something so that I would know how much he had treasured my friendship. It puzzled me, and troubled me. I spent some time thinking. In the end, I realized that my friend really did intend to rebel. I thought I could save him, stop him from making a choice he could never take back. And so I raised the alarm. At my bequest, Heaven’s enforcers came for my friend. But they were too late. He was already gone. This?” He once more traced the lapel. “This was all he’d left behind.”

The candidate gave a low whistle. “Do you think he knew you’d blow the whistle on him?”

“I do.”

“And he still left you that?”

“So it would appear.”

“Damn!” The candidate leaned back in his chair. “Ok, I get why you wear it now, but at the same time, I don’t. Every time you so much as look at it, you must feel guilty as hell.”

“I do,” the angel admitted. “If I had only acted faster, I might have been able to save him.”

The candidate stared at him. “Um, no, that’s not it. The guilt should be because you betrayed your friend, not because he got away!”

“You make no sense,” the angel told him. “If I had only realized sooner what he was planning, we might have caught him. I think he wanted me to stop him! Instead, he’s out there somewhere, rogue and hunted.”

“Wait, he’s out there somewhere, still?” The candidate looked very interested now. “He’s managed to keep hidden for however long this has been going on?”

The angel made a face. “From what I have been hearing, he’s learned quite a few tricks that he’s put to good use. Every time we think we’ve found him, he’s given us the slip. Once, we were sure he was dead, but when we went to collect his vessel and make sure, he was gone again.”

Dean eyed him. “So, you’re saying he’s a bit of a trickster?”

“That,” the angel agreed, “is exactly what he is.”

“Ok, I have got to meet this guy. He seriously needs to get together with some friends of mine.”

The angel threw up his hands in disgust. “That is what you took away from this story?!”

“Why not?” the candidate shot back. “You still don’t get it, even after your friend did! Anna was right. Free will is worth fighting for.”

That made the angel bristle in irritation. “What would you know of it, human?”

“I know that if you go on being Heaven’s butt boy, and you drag me to Michael? Then my free will is precisely what I’ll lose!”

“You are impossible.”

“You’re a dick!”

“And you’re an assbutt!”

For some reason, that made the candidate laugh. Irritated, the angel got to his feet. “I’m going across the street, to the Gas-n-Sip. I believe there was an ATM there. I’ll get you your money. Then I believe I will find elsewhere to rest.”

The laughter stopped. “Why the hell would you need to rest? Hey, wait.” The candidate ran after him, grabbing the angel’s arm. “Angel, are you alright?”

“No. Because of you, I am disgraced, hunted, and will be killed by demons or my own kind. If that’s not enough, did you not see what you did to me?” He pulled his arm free. “Leave me be.”

For once, the willful candidate obeyed. Guilt was written all over his face.

The angel ignored him and left the room. He walked quickly, crossing the road to enter the Gas-n-Sip. He noticed the two young men at the counter, standing too close to the pale-faced girl behind it, but paid them little mind. The angel quickly withdrew the maximum amount of cash the machine allowed. As he did, he noticed without interest that one of the men had come over and was standing near him.

It wasn’t until something rounded and hard was suddenly shoved into his side that the angel started paying attention. “Hand over that money, pal. Nice and slow.”

The angel looked at the man. His eyes moved down to the gun pressed into his side. He took in the terrified clerk, the second man holding a gun on her. He sighed. Humans.


	7. On the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean must deal with the fall-out of Angel's actions, but his worsening condition is creating a new set of problems

Dean had run out of swear words and was making some up as he went. In his hand, the new cell phone cheerfully continued to pour out bad news. “Stupid Burglars Try To Rob Angel,” one headline read. “Angelic Hero Saves Store Clerk” another screamed. The internet was wild with the news, and worst of all, Angel’s face was everywhere. The only good thing was that the camera in the store had been of low quality. The ATM’s camera had been blocked with some prankster’s chewing gum, meaning some grainy black and white images of a man with glowing eyes were all there were, along with the woman’s description. The two thieves wouldn’t be describing anything. Angel had thrown one out into the street in the path of an oncoming truck, then put the other headfirst into a wall. Neither had survived.

Dean had come running at the sound of crashing cars, reaching the store far too late to do anything besides grab Angel away from the sobbing, grateful clerk and start running. That had resulted in the most damning pictures of all – Dean hauling ass, dragging a stumbling, confused Angel after him. At least they’d only gotten a shot of the backs of their heads. Dean couldn’t imagine what the papers would have said if they’d realized that the Archangel Michael’s chosen candidate had been involved. As it was, it was all Dean could do to get away. They’d run through the streets and back alleys until he simply couldn’t run any farther. After that, Dean had put his mechanic skills to good use, hotwiring a car and taking off into the night.

Four hours, a stop for gas and a couple of prepaid cell phones, some new clothes stolen from nearby clotheslines, a second stolen car, and a walk to a no-tell motel later, Dean was lying on the bed, swearing at each new news post. He’d already called Bobby, receiving well deserved verbal abuse for being stupid enough to allow Angel to go anywhere unattended. Now he was exhausted, irritated, and too anxious to sleep.

Angel sat quietly in one corner, watching him. The blue eyes held no question or incrimination. They just watched. Dean tossed the cell phone onto the bedside table, rolled over to face Angel, and pointed at him. “You are never going more than a few feet away from me from now on,” he announced. “Try it, and I’ll put you on a damned leash.”

Angel’s eyebrow went up. “What makes you think I would allow you to do such a thing?”

Of course, Dean had no answer to that. He rolled back onto his back with a groan. “Just stay close to me from now on. It’s pretty damned obvious that I can’t let you wander off on your own again.”

“Fine.”

Dean heard Angel moving closer and looked over in time to see him climbing onto the bed. Too surprised to do anything but move over a little, Dean stared. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Precisely as you instructed. You told me to stay close to you.”

“Yeah, this is a little too close.” Angel was pressed right up against Dean’s side. “Personal space, dude! You were fine where you were, just don’t leave the room without me.”

Angel turned his head, glowering at Dean. “You really are impossible.”

“I’m impossible? Dude, you smashed a guy’s head into a brick wall!”

Blue eyes studied him. “Should I have allowed him to threaten me?”

“It’s not like he could have hurt you.”

“And the woman? He certainly could have hurt her!”

Dean really couldn’t argue with that. “Ok, I guess you kind of had to do something, but you took it a little far.”

“What would you have had me do?”

“Something a little less, I don’t know, messy?” Dean shuddered, remembering what was left of the would-be robbers.

“Candidate, you know the law as well as anyone,” Angel reminded. “Threatening the life of another human without just cause or threatening an angel both carry a sentence of death. Usually we leave it up to human law enforcement to carry out threats against another human. But I was there, and they threatened me, as well. If they could actually harm me or not did not matter. What mattered was that I was there and witnessed the breaking of the law. I acted accordingly.”

Dean grimaced. “Look, do you think, just maybe, you could call me Dean?”

“Could you call me by my name in exchange?”

“Sure,” Dean agreed. “Right after you agree not to give me up to that damned archangel.”

Angel had raised his head and was looking hopefully at Dean. Now he scowled and rolled off the bed. He stomped back over to his chair, sat down, and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked so much like a child throwing a temper tantrum that Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Ok, fine,” he relented. “I’ll call you by your name.”

The angel brightened. He waited, looking expectantly at Dean.

“Er…” Dean squirmed, sitting up in the bed. “I, um, kind of need you to remind me of what it is.”

The blue eyes went wide. “You… You _forgot_ my _name?!”_

Dean cringed. “Sorry. Just refresh my memory, ok?”

The angel’s reaction was odd. He opened and closed his mouth several times, looking for all the world like a fish gulping water. But no sound came out. He clenched his fists. “I can’t!”

Dean blinked. “What do you mean, you can’t? Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing you didn’t cause!”

Dean blinked again, surprised by this sudden flash of temper. But Angel’s eyes were moving towards the door. Clearly, he was thinking of storming out in a huff again. Nope. Not happening. Dean raised his hands in supplication. “Ok, I’m sorry. Really, I am. I didn’t mean to hurt you. All I wanted was to live my life. It’s still all I want. But it’s pretty obvious that I fucked you up, too, and I never intended that. I’m sorry.”

Angel seemed to droop in his chair. He lowered his head and rubbed his hands over his face, combing them back through his hair to lace his fingers behind his neck. “You have no idea what it is you’ve done, do you? I’d been thinking you had some sort of advanced knowledge. But you’re not much different than a monkey drawing shapes in the sand, making a complex picture by simple chance. It’s a wonder, how you’ve managed to do so much damage through little more than sheer, dumb luck.”

That stung a bit. It was hardly the first time Dean had been called dumb. He’d thought that about himself. But being compared to a monkey was pushing it. “I said I was sorry,” he repeated. “You don’t have to be a dick.”

Angel made a small sound of acknowledgement. He leaned his head back, seeming to rest it against his laced hands with his eyes closed. “Do you even have a plan?” he asked. “Beyond getting to this friend of yours and threatening to leash me, I haven’t heard much.”

“I’m kind of playing things by ear,” Dean admitted. “Not like I have a whole lot of experience running with an angel, now, do I?”

“I still don’t understand why you’re keeping me with you.”

“Because I’ve got a way better chance of staying alive with you than without.”

“Aah.” Angel’s eyes opened and fixed on Dean. “At least now you’re being honest.”

Suddenly, Dean decided he’d had enough. “Ok, you want honesty?” he said. “Here’s honesty. You flying bastards came down here, saved the world, and then took over. At first, everyone was thrilled. You ended the threat of wars and set up some laws, but for the most part, you left things alone. Everyone got to keep their own government. You arbitrated any big arguments. Hell, you even settled things down in the Middle East. For that alone, humanity owed you their gratitude.” Dean narrowed his eyes. “But then you started taking vessels. You put out this huge PR campaign. Suddenly, everyone is hearing about how it’s this great honor. Join the angels. Be the saviors of humanity. Play a role in shaping our own destiny, right? You’d take anyone aged twelve through forty, so parents were dragging their kids in to get registered on their twelfth birthday. Everyone thought it was a great idea. You paid top dollar for everyone who could be registered, and the lucky chosen candidates got to play a part in leading their own planet, right?”

“We have been through this already,” Angel grumbled.

“Yeah, we have. A lot of people have. Damned near every kid was being brought in to the centers. Everyone hoped to get registered, along with every adult in the age bracket. My brother, Sam? He was one of them. Our dad got us both registered when we turned twelve.” He held up his arm, pulling back the sleeve to reveal the scars. “That’s your name there, isn’t it? That’s why you came to collect me.”

“It still amazes me that you could bear my name on your flesh for thirteen years,” Angel declared, “and not know it.”

“One, I didn’t know it was a name. Two, I can’t read this. No one can! You bastards made sure of that.”

“We certainly don’t want some ignorant human messing with things they don’t understand,” Angel replied. “That could end up with them doing something foolish, like burning our wings off.” He gave Dean a pointed look.

Dean pounded a fist into the mattress. “I said I was sorry!”

“I find it does little to help my situation.”

Angel had closed his eyes again, but they opened wide when a pillow struck him in the face. “You know that friend of yours you told me about?” Dean said. “Obviously, he meant something to you. That’s why you wear his coat, right? Well, my brother Sam was everything to me. Everything! We lost our mom to some psychotic murderer when Sammy was just a baby, and our dad pretty much drowned in a bottle. He worked odd jobs when he was sober enough, then move on once the bills started piling up or he got another ‘lead’ on her killer. Our childhoods were spent moving from one town to another, wherever he could find work, while he searched for mom’s killer. He just couldn’t believe that the guy had OD’d a few months after he killed her. Dad couldn’t handle the idea that he’d never be able to look the bastard in the eye and get justice for our mom. So, he kept searching, kept moving, kept trying to get some justice that would never come. And through it all, I’m the one who took care of Sammy. That kid was the only bright spot in my life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my brother, ok? And you?” Dean leveled a finger at the angel. “You bastards took him away.”

Angel frowned. “Your brother is still very much alive.”

“You seriously call that living?!” Dean scoffed. “When your precious Lucifer chose my brother as a vessel, Dad had been thinking he had it made. With Sammy partnered with an archangel, he’d finally be able to find the bastard that murdered our mom, bring him to justice under the same law you used to kill those assholes at the store. But that’s not what happened. Lucifer took my brother, went on his way, and never looked back. Nothing we could do could get him to respond to us or even acknowledge we existed. Finally, dad had to admit that he’d been wrong, that it wasn’t a great partnership and Sammy wasn’t in control or even being consulted. My brother was nothing more now than a prisoner in his own body. Ah, see, you flinched,” Dean announced. “That bothers you, doesn’t it? You really have been thinking about it, haven’t you?”

“I will admit that, prior to meeting you, I hadn’t given much thought to the mental state of the humans who served us as vessels,” Angel admitted. “The thought of being trapped in the manner you described is somewhat troubling.”

“Just try to imagine if things were the other way around?” Dean pressed. “You think it sucks that I burned your wings? Imagine if you still had them, but you couldn’t use them because someone else had complete control of you?”

Angel didn’t answer. He’d slumped in the chair again, arms crossed over his chest. His blue eyes were troubled, seeming lost in thought.

Dean sighed, flopping back onto the bed. “I know my brother is still in there,” he announced. “Sammy’s there, trapped in his own body, watching as that archangel moves him around. And believe me, I know what Lucifer has been up to! I know what he did in Detroit, how he’s taken over and made his own little fiefdom. But that’s not Sammy.” Dean began to talk, telling Angel about his brother. He described Sammy as a child, the mischief he’d get into. He was partway through the story about how Sammy broke a bone trying to fly off the roof when he was interrupted by a loud snore.

Alarmed, Dean sat up, staring at Angel. The angel was still slumped in the chair, but now his chin was resting on his chest. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling with snores. He was asleep! Angels didn’t sleep. What was going on?

Dean quickly got up and gently shook the angel awake. When the sleepy blue eyes blinked at him, Dean demanded, “What is wrong with you? How the hell can you fall asleep?”

Angel irritably shrugged Dean’s hand off of his shoulder. “You still have no idea how much you’ve damaged me,” he growled. “Leave me be. You’ve done enough.”

“Yeah.” Talk about a guilt trip. Dean shifted his weight, glancing back at the single bed in the room before turning to look back at the exhausted angel. “Ok, it’s obvious you need rest, and you can’t sleep in that chair. How you managed to not fall out of it is a miracle all by itself, but I can’t let you stay there. Come on.”

“What are you doing?” Angel grumbled, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

“We’re both getting some sleep tonight,” Dean declared. “Just don’t think it means we’re dating just because we’re sleeping together.”

“Why would I think that?”

Dean’s humor was clearly being wasted here. He dragged the grumpy angel to the bed. “Shoes off, coat off,” he ordered. “I usually sleep in a t-shirt and boxers, but you do whatever makes you feel comfortable. With a button-down dress shirt, I’d take that off, too. We’re going to be changing into those clothes we stole tomorrow anyway.” Suiting actions to words, Dean began to undress.

By the time Dean was stripped down, Angel was wearing nothing more than his underwear and dress shirt. He fiddled with the buttons on it and then removed it, adding the shirt to the pile of clothing he’d created next to the bed. Good enough. Dean got him under the covers, climbed in himself, and turned off the light. “Night,” he called.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

The sound of his own name made Dean smile into the darkness.

****

The sun was bright behind Dean’s closed eyes. Dean ignored it. He was way too comfortable, warm and snuggled up with a compliant body. His arm was around the body, along with his head and most of his chest. One leg was bent up, resting on another leg beneath it. A steady heartbeat and gentle breathing sounded beneath Dean’s ear. He made a contented sound and cuddled into the chest. He’d always enjoyed snuggling whenever he shared his bed.

Who, exactly, was he sharing his bed with?

Dean’s eyes opened, quickly taking in the sight of Angel lying underneath him. Dean was practically on top of him, wrapped like an octopus around the angel’s body. Dean’s cheeks burned. He quickly pulled away.

Fortunately, Angel had apparently still been asleep. Blue eyes still foggy with slumber blinked open and fixed on Dean. Dean managed a smile. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

The eyes seemed to clear. Angel sat up, looking around in confusion. “I slept all night?”

“Looks that way.” Dean sat up as well. The fact that he’d apparently cuddled Angel in his sleep wasn’t something that needed to be discussed. “You feeling any better?”

Angel seemed to consider the question. “I’m not sure. This has never happened to me before. I don’t feel as drained as I did last night, so I suppose that’s better.”

“Sure is!” Dean climbed quickly out of the bed, grabbing up his clothes. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Why don’t you get dressed?”

Dean quickly retreated to the safety of the bathroom, locked the door, and glared at himself in the mirror. He’d just been cuddling an angel in a motel room bed. How the hell had that happened?! Never mind. Dean quickly showered, dressed, and returned to the room.

There was no sign of Angel.

Dean panicked, threw on his shoes, and raced out. The angel was nowhere to be seen. Dean ran towards the main office, hoping someone had seen where the idiot had gone. But when he barged in, there was Angel. He was standing in front of one of the vending machines and appeared to be looking over the selection. Well, at least he was dressed, although he’d put on the same clothes he’d always worn, rather than the new outfit they’d stolen for him.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He definitely needed a leash, but at least he’d found the angel before he’d gotten himself into any more trouble. Siding up to Angel, Dean put a hand on his shoulder. “You hungry?”

“I’m not sure,” Angel admitted. “I think so? I’ve tried human food before, but I couldn’t enjoy it.”

“You can’t taste?”

“I taste too much,” Angel corrected. “Food tastes like molecules to me.”

“Well, you needed sleep,” Dean pointed out. “Maybe some molecules are what the doctor ordered?”

That earned him a head cock. “You think I need a doctor? I hardly think my injuries are…”

Dean waved a hand. “Let’s check out and get some food. See how you feel after that, but you need to change, first.”

“Change?” Angel allowed Dean to lead him away.

“You have worn the same pair of underwear for entirely too long,” Dean declared. “And frankly, you could do with a change. In the places we’ll be staying, you kind of stand out. Plus, a description of you in that outfit has been all over the internet. Frankly, it doesn’t look quite right on you anyway.”

“It doesn’t?” Angel was frowning down at his clothes. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean threw an arm around Angel’s shoulders. “C’mon. It’s time we get you a new look.”


	8. Angel Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby meets a man with a plan that might help him save Dean

Bobby Singer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes once again went to the Englishman across the table. His lips curled into a scowl of disgust. “Are you going to sit there looking at your cell phone all damned night?” he spat. “Because some of us have places to be!”

The Englishman ignored him, but the man next to him rolled his eyes. “Just pipe down, Singer,” Gordon Walker advised. “That uppity prick won’t start until he’s ready. Besides, I think it actually amuses him to get under people’s skin.”

“It does,” grumbled the young man to Bobby’s right. “I’ve heard enough about him to know. Don’t feed the troll, Singer.”

Bobby regarded him. Cole Trenton was young, probably Sammy’s age or younger. But it was Dean, not Sammy, that the young man reminded Bobby of. Cole was way too young to be into angel hunting, but seemed passionate about it. Obviously, there was some history there. Cole had the same combination of confidence, anger, and recklessness he’d come to associate with Dean, but none of Dean’s underlying gentleness. The young man might have been handsome, if it weren’t for two things. The first was the ever-present glare in his eyes. They looked, to Bobby, like the eyes of someone who felt cheated by the world and was pissed about it. It was another way Cole reminded Bobby way too strongly of Dean. But the other reason Cole missed the mark of being considered handsome was his arm. It was covered with knots of scars. Cole didn’t seem to care. He sat with obvious impatience, both arms fully exposed by his short-sleeved shirt.

The scarred arm was the focus of the woman to Bobby’s left. Like everyone at the table, Ellen Harvelle looked like someone who had survived a war. She had the same battle-hardened look about her that they all had, making her tough, defensive, and easily offended. Now she was glaring down at the mass of scars on Cole’s right arm as he sat with his hands folded on the table. “What I don’t get is why you’re here,” she said, finally breaking the silence she’d fallen into from the moment Cole entered the room. “It’s pretty obvious you’re an angel candidate, although it looks like you tried to change that. What did you do, try to burn it off?”

Cole glanced at her. His eyes moved down to the scars on his arm and then moved back 8to her. “Acid,” he admitted. “Didn’t work. The marks just reformed as the skin grew back.”

“I could have told you that,” Ellen scoffed. “Only sure way we found to get that shit off of Joanna Beth was to cut off her arm.”

“I still cannot believe you chopped off your own daughter’s arm,” Gordon said. “That’s hardcore.”

Ellen tossed her head. “It was below the elbow, just above the scars. She does fine with a prosthetic. Better that then let the angels take her.”

“Why’d you let her become a candidate in the first place?” Cole asked.

“Because I was a fool, just like most of the world,” Ellen admitted. “I believed what those bastards were telling us, didn’t realize my mistake until it was too late. Then I did what I had to do to save her.”

Bobby privately agreed. He’d already been secretly thinking that going to the extreme of taking Dean’s arm might have saved his boy. Maybe it could still work? The angels could heal just about anything, but he hadn’t heard about them growing back an entire limb. Maybe, if Dean no longer had the marks…?

“That still won’t work,” the Englishman calmly informed them. “The scars on the arm are only physical manifestations. Those inscriptions are soul deep. That’s why they grow back. Even removing the limb doesn’t remove the marks. All you’ve done is cripple your daughter for no reason.”

Ellen’s face darkened with fury. “You son of a bitch! You’re wrong!”

“I’m afraid I’m not.” Ellen’s anger seemed to have no effect on the man, who continued to look at his cell phone. “The angel Joshua quite easily took a vessel, despite the loss of the arm. Look it up yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Ellen’s face went white. She reached for her phone, quickly worked at it, and sat down with a whimper of distress. Bobby glared daggers at the man.

The Englishman continued to ignore the effects of his words. Instead, he glanced at Cole. “She is right about one thing,” he said. “Why do we have someone here who could, at any moment, be chosen as a vessel and therefore draw the bloody angels straight to us?”

Cole visibly bristled. “Fuck you, Ketch! I’m here because I’m ready to fight the angels, just like everyone else.”

“Cole’s fine,” Gordon grunted. “I can vouch for his loyalty, mark or no mark. Besides, there’s enough angel warding on this place that nothing short of an archangel could find it. Right now, we all know who the archangels are interested in.”

Bobby clenched his fists, seeing all eyes turn to him. “They’re not taking Dean. Now Ellen, I came here because you said this Ketch guy’s the one to talk to, but right now, all I want to do is punch him in the face! So Ketch, I suggest you start talking, before I forget what few manners I got left.”

Ketch made a small noise. “There’s only one angel I’m interested in. The one with your pseudo son isn’t it.”

“Then why the hell are you here?” Bobby wanted to know. He pounded his fist on the table. “Put down that phone and talk to us before I shove it right up your ass!”

Ketch finally looked up, glowering at Bobby in irritation. “I’m so sorry if you don’t approve of my methods, but might I suggest you learn what it is I’m doing before you take too much of an interest in my orifices?”

“Fine.” Ellen was back in control. She looked as ready to punch Ketch as Bobby did, but settled for glaring at the man. “Word is, you are the man to talk to about capturing an angel. Right now, Dean’s got one with him. He’s injured, and apparently Dean’s somehow won his trust.”

“He’s bringing him straight to us,” Bobby announced, feeling a twinge of pride at Dean’s audacity. Only Dean Winchester would have had the balls to pull this one off. “Whatever angel’s got your panties in a twist, Ketch, this is the angel we’ve got a chance at capturing. Dean’s thinking that if we can get him to talk, we might just have a chance at freeing some vessels.”

“If this is Winchester’s collector, then it’s only copper level,” Ketch told him. “That’s not nearly high enough to have access to that kind of information. You need something with a bit more juice for that.”

“Here we go,” Gordon groaned. “Time to show off his knowledge. Ketch has been obsessed with angels. He knows everything about every angel known to be on the planet. Man’s like a walking encyclopedia.”

Ketch ignored this. He held up his phone. “I’ve been doing a bit of research, based on what I’ve learned about this angel with Mr. Winchester. And I believe I’ve found a connection between him, and the angel we really want.” He put the phone on the table. “Take a look.”

Bobby leaned over with the others. The phone displayed a photo, along with some information about a man he’d never heard of or seen before. “James Novak,” he read. “Who’s this?”

“Nobody,” Ketch explained. “Married father of one, sold advertisements on A.M. radio. Lives in the suburbs in your typical middle class picket fence home. It’s likely he would have lived and died without anyone outside of his friends and family even noticing, except for one thing. He was chosen as an angel vessel.”

“Ah, you talking about the same guy we’re looking at?” Ellen asked. “Because for a boring suburbanite, this guy has got one hell of a record!”

Gordon gave a low whistle. “Robbery, murder, sexual assault? Sounds like an angel vessel’s the best use of this piece of work!”

“The record isn’t real,” Ketch explained. “I’ve just had it created through my contact with the young man Ellen kindly introduced me to.”

“Ash did this?” Ellen exclaimed. “I’ll kick his ass when I see him next!”

“He’s been quite helpful. That’s what I was doing when we all sat down, communicating with him.” Ketch smiled, enjoying the looks he was receiving. “I have contacts within law enforcement. Creating a record like this wasn’t difficult for them. As we speak, it’s circulating, along with an all-points bulletin.”

“So now he’s wanted by the police?” Cole shook his head. “I don’t get it. He’s an angel. There’s no real chance of him being captured by police!”

“No,” Ketch agreed. “But you see, I also have contacts in the angel vessel registry. They have just conveniently lost all record of Novak’s being chosen. So now there’s no way to know what he really is. To the police, he’s simply a wanted felon. One that could commit another crime at any time, right in their own backyard. And worse, he’s gone and kidnapped a platinum-level candidate! I’m fairly certain law enforcement will be quite enthusiastic about tracking him down.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Bobby asked, irritated. “Dean’s coming right to us! We’ll have an angel right in our laps if we just wait a danged minute!”

Ketch rolled his eyes. “While I’m sure you have all the faith in your friend, we’re going to need a bit more than the word of a mechanic who just happened to be chosen by an archangel.”

“Listen, Ketch, Dean’s a good kid,” Bobby argued. “If he says he can do it, we should believe him. Why get the police involved?”

“Because we are after two angels here, not just one. This angel has an accomplice, a partner in this kidnapping. Besides, I don’t trust that this mechanic is going to be able to pull off his part of things. This pads my bet.”

“So, if we monitor the police chatter,” Ellen mused, “that would lead us to both angels?” She indicated the picture. “What’s the name?”

“Castiel,” Ketch replied. “Angel of Thursday.”

Gordon chuckled. “Told you. Ask him anything about any angel, he can spit it out. If angels were a category on Jeopardy, Ketch would clean house.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Bobby growled. “What’s the plan here?”

In answer, Ketch swiped the screen of his phone, revealing another face. “Meet Alfred Pike, struggling med student of questionable taste, as he was nearly expelled from school after being caught underaged drinking at a strip club. That is literally the worst thing he’s ever done. Other than being Mr. Novak’s accomplice in kidnapping, that is.” Ketch tsked. “It’s too bad. Mr. Pike may have just been about to turn his life around. He’d accepted a position as a janitor in the college he was attending, was saving his money, and rumor has it he was thinking of proposing to his sweetheart. He might have made something of himself if he hadn’t been chosen as an angel vessel, except, wait! There’s no record of that happening, just this warrant for his arrest and his name on this all-points bulletin. How strange!”

“More fake records,” Bobby realized. “Not bad, Ketch.”

“Ash, you bastard,” Ellen grumbled. “He’s too smart for his own good.”

“What’s the connection?” Cole wanted to know, frowning at the two pictures as he moved back and forth between them. “These two guys don’t seem like they have anything in common, other than the angels.”

“The angels are indeed the link.” Ketch took back his phone. “These two angels know each other. That in and of itself isn’t too exciting, except when you consider that this angel is always seen wearing a particular tan trench coat. And that coat was identified as belonging to the vessel of this angel. As angels don’t suffer from cold, I find it extremely unlikely that it was a gift of convenience. These two angels have history. They mean something to each other. Therefore, if I capture the one?” He smiled. “I can use him to draw out the other.”

“And that’s why you have the police after them both?” Cole asked. “To help chase them into your trap?”

Ketch pointed at him. “Precisely!”

“So, two angels for the price of one?” Ellen asked. “Who is this guy you really want, the one who can help us? What’s so special about him, besides being a higher class of angel?”

“He goes by several different names,” Ketch explained. “But I believe there’s one that suits him best, one everyone at this table would know. The Trickster.”

Everyone at the table straightened, eyes going wide. “The Trickster?” Cole asked. “I wasn’t sure he was real!”

“Oh, I assure you, he is very much real,” Ketch insisted. He put down his phone again, displaying a map. “I am no mere angel hunter, simply looking for revenge or to protect my loved ones. My organization, the Men of Letters, has for centuries been the guardians of lore. We lost many members and a significant portion of our knowledge when the angels took over and purged the planet of information. But that in and of itself tells you something about them.”

“They’re vulnerable,” Ellen growled. “I always believed that! It’s why we’re all here, because everyone at this table believes we can fight these bastards. And it’s why I called you, Ketch. If anyone might know how to capture and hold an angel, it’s the Men of Letters.”

Ketch nodded, looking at his map. “Ever since the purge, we Men of Letters have been looking for weaknesses. I believe that their biggest weakness is this Trickster. This map shows known locations where he’s been seen. I have pictures, video, eyewitness testimony to prove it. I was looking for a pattern, something I could use to predict where he’d show next. I never found one. For all intents and purposes, the Trickster just seems to move about randomly. Everywhere he goes, he disrupts angel rule.” His finger moved over the map. “He destroyed a prison here. A registration center there. Those are just the biggest hits. He’s interrupted rallies, sabotaged recruitment campaigns, all sorts of things all aimed in sowing seeds of discord since we first became aware of him. Yet, he seems to have little real interest in vessels. It’s his fellow angels he really seems to be targeting. Most of these sightings, he was far more interested in speaking with other angels than with potential candidates. And in most cases, afterwards that angel wouldn’t be seen again.”

“He’s gathering them up,” Cole mused. “Building some sort of army. But so what? If he’s not interested in humans, what makes you think he’ll help us?”

“Because there's only one reason he'd give his trench coat to a mere collector - he's invested in some way,” Ketch declared. “It’s the first time I’ve ever had a shot at a real weakness of the Trickster!” He tapped the picture. “If we can get him to call, the Trickster will come. I’m sure of it! Capture him, and we’ll have the Trickster.”

“And then what?” Gordon challenged. “The Trickster isn’t some standard class angel, Ketch. Even if he does come to help his friend, what makes you think he won’t just smite us all and scatter our molecules across the cosmos?”

“Because the Trickster goes by another name,” Bobby retorted. “The Rebel. He turned his back on Heaven, went off on his own, and has been working ever since to turn the whole system on its head. I think Cole’s right, that he’s gathering up an army. But even though he doesn’t mess much with human affairs, word is he’s sympathetic. He’s been known to help humans if he’s around and they’re in distress.”

“How sympathetic do you think he’ll be if we started carving up his friend?” Gordon asked.

“We’ll be gentle,” Ellen assured. “Just cut the bastard up enough to get him to call his friend.”

“And if he won’t?” Cole was frowning, looking around the table. “What’s the plan if, no matter what we do, he refuses to betray the Trickster?”

Ketch waved a hand. “I assure you, he’ll call. After that, if the Trickster isn’t in the mood to help, well, I’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. All we have to do is bring him in.”

“It’s the best shot we’ve got,” Bobby agreed. “We’ll get to the Trickster, one way or another. After that, we do whatever we have to do to make him tell us how to save the vessels.” That was all he really wanted. A shot at the Trickster was the best chance he’d had to finally learn how to save vessels. It was too late for his wife. Despite what Dean believed, Bobby feared it was too late for Sam, too. But Dean still had a chance. He’d save his boy, no matter what it cost.


	9. The Naming of Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With little to lose, Angel finally tells Dean the truth about what he's done

The angel stared out the window at the scenery, feeling very out of place. Dean, he was starting to realize, was proving to be quite the asset. He’d been right about food. The angel had noticed with some alarm that his senses were somewhat muted. He could barely taste the molecules. It had made eating a far more pleasant experience, but was further proof of how weakened he’d become. He felt his vulnerability acutely.

The clothing Dean had selected for him didn’t help. Dean had dressed him in an outfit similar to his own, faded jeans and a striped t-shirt with hiking boots “in case we have to do some walking.” The angel’s familiar suit had been stuffed into a bag with Dean’s dirty clothing and the rest of the new clothes they’d purchased. Fortunately, Dean had understood enough not to take the angel’s trench coat. The angel wrapped it around himself now like it was armor.

For his part, Dean had invested in a bandana, fake gold necklaces, and a sleeveless shirt he for some reason referred to as a “wife beater.” He was still wearing the sunglasses, although he’d put the hat onto the angel’s head. Then he’d immediately insisted the angel take it off when they’d entered the restaurant. Humans made little sense.

“You look good,” Dean told him. “That outfit makes you look a lot younger. You could pass for a college kid.”

That disrupted the angel’s train of thought. He glanced down at himself. “Do I?” His hands smoothed the shirt over his chest. “I never really paid much attention to what my vessel was wearing before, but it’s strange. I feel different, somehow.”

Dean reached across the table to gently cuff his bicep. “The ladies will love you. The waitress was already giving us both the eye, but she was really interested in you.” He pointed with his fork. “I saw her duck back there and get on her phone. Dollars to donuts, she’s texting her BFF about the cute guys she got to wait on.”

The angel wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything, but he was in no mood to argue with the candidate. They’d stopped to eat in a diner. Dean, knowing the angel’s experience with food was limited, had ordered the same meal for them both. The angel picked up the bacon double cheeseburger the waitress had brought in his hands and frowned at it, trying to decide the best way to bite into it without making too much of a mess.

Dean obviously had no such issue. He was already halfway through his own burger, and had made a significant dent in the fries. The angel had no idea how he’d managed to pull it off without getting the greasy globs of melted cheese and ketchup all over himself. “Mmm,” Dean moaned around his latest mouthful. “This place is a dive, but these burgers are divine.”

“I believe I will trust my own counsel as to what constitutes ‘divine,’ thank you,” the angel grumbled.

Green eyes narrowed at him. “You seriously need to get that stick out of your ass, Angel. Look, you haven’t touched your food. It’s going to get cold! Go on, stop staring at that burger and bite into it. Trust me, you’ll be glad you did.”

The angel shrugged and bit into the burger. He was immediately surprised. Bread, meat, lettuce, tomato, onion, mustard, ketchup and bacon all combined to form a unique taste he was utterly unprepared for. His eyes grew wide, oblivious to Dean’s delighted laugh as he carefully chewed. “This?” he managed after he’d swallowed the bite. “This makes me very happy!”

Dean continued to smile at him, watching as the angel tucked into the burger. “I’m glad you like it, but seriously. What’s up with your mojo? You shouldn’t even need to eat or sleep, but you’re needing three hots and a cot same as I am! So spill. What’s wrong with you?”

That dampened the angel’s enthusiasm for the food a little. “You injured me, Dean.”

“Burning off your wings basically makes you human?”

“Burning off my wings added to it, made what was already there much worse,” the angel corrected. “But you injured me well before you burned me.”

Dean’s eyes widened in shock. “What? How?”

“My name,” the angel explained. “I’m an angel, Dean. I was spoken into existence by my Father, but I have no physical being and no soul. What I am, my name is what gives me substance, keeps me together.” He narrowed his eyes at Dean. “When I came to you, to claim you for Michael, you took my name away. Now, only you can give it back.”

“I… What? No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did,” the angel insisted. “I told you who I was, and you said that I was nobody.”

Dean blinked. “That was enough to take away your name? Just refusing to acknowledge it?”

“Normally, no,” the angel admitted. He shook his head. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“Dude, why not?” Dean challenged. “If you don’t tell me what I did to hurt you, how am I going to fix it?”

The angel eyed him, considering. He still wasn’t sure he could trust Dean. But the human had a point. Besides, he reasoned, he’d soon recover enough to take him to Michael. If, by then, he’d convinced the candidate to accept his fate, perhaps they could both survive this disaster after all. By that reasoning, what did he have to lose? “The reason you could hurt me like that was because you did it as I was sealing you for Michael,” he admitted. “Had you refused to acknowledge him, I doubt it would have had much effect. But for me, in that moment? I was vulnerable. I knew then that you’d injured me, but it wasn’t bad. Not until I came back for you. Then you again refused to acknowledge my name. That wounded me further, and you sealed it when you banished me!” He leaned back, crossing his arms to glower at Dean. “Then, of course, you set me on fire. Is it any wonder my mojo, as you call it, is rather stressed?”

Dean groaned. “Ok, ok, I’m an assbutt for setting you on fire. And for banishing you. But I swear, I didn’t know I messed you up with the name thing. That’s news to me.”

“I’m aware. I realized that when it became obvious you had no idea what my name was. But of course, by that point, it was far too late. I should have just admitted my blunder, called for assistance, and let us both be taken…”

“No!” Dean raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t do that, dude. I told you I don’t want to be an angel vessel, and honestly, Angel? I don’t think you’re too keen on getting banished from Heaven or whatever they’d do to you.”

“Not particularly,” the angel admitted. He sighed and went back to his meal.

“How does that name thing even work?” Dean complained. “Can’t you just have another angel say it?”

“No angel below an archangel can say it. I’ve been diminished.”

“Seriously? Because I fucked up, now no one can say your name? Even the angels who know you?”

“Angels, no,” the angel explained. “We have no physical bodies, Dean. That’s why we need vessels. You humans already have physical bodies. Your names aren’t as connected to your true beings as ours are.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry again,” Dean said. “If I could remember your name, I’d give it back. What, I just have to say it?”

“That’s all.”

“So, couldn’t you just write it down?” Dean picked up a crayon from the small cup left at the table and pushed it towards the angel. “Go on, write it for me!”

“Dean, it is branded into your arm!” the angel reminded, irritably.

“Yeah, but I can’t read Enochian, can I?” Dean pushed the crayon at the angel again. “Just write it in English.”

“Don’t you understand?” the angel snapped, losing his patience. “You have taken my name completely away from me. I can’t say it, I can’t write it, I can’t tap it out in Morse Code, I can’t even give you part of it. It’s gone from me! If you saw it written down somewhere in a form you could understand, yes, you could say it. That would solve most of my problems. I would take you to Michael, beg for his forgiveness, and hopefully only be severely punished and spend a few centuries in prison before everything would continue as it was intended to go. But you can’t get it from me, or from any angel. It has to come from something that already exists, from another human, or something far more powerful than I am. An archangel could say it,” he added. “If I took you to Michael, he might just be happy to introduce us. Shall we go right now?”

Dean raised his hands. “Ok. I get it. You’re pissed. Backing off.”

“Thank you.” The angel tucked into his burger, chewing angrily. Naturally, he’d already considered simply taking the candidate to Michael. It had been his initial plan, once he’d realized the candidate wouldn’t say his name. But the banishing and subsequent loss of his wings made that impossible. Did the candidate realize that? Probably. Didn’t matter. If Michael found him now, he knew, the archangel would certainly punish him for his failure to bring this vessel. Most likely, he would be destroyed or banished. No matter what happened going forward, his fate was likely sealed. It made even the delicious burger a little less appealing.

Naturally, Dean finished well before he did. To pass the time, the candidate picked up the crayon again and began to draw on the paper tablecloth. The angel finished eating and glanced at the doodles. He froze. “Dean,” he called, “where did you learn how to write in Enochian?”

Dean was surprisingly unperturbed. “My brother,” he explained. “I raised that kid, pretty much on my own after we lost our mom. Dad took us both to get registered. This was just the mark on his arm. Weird though.” He frowned at his drawing. “After he was chosen, he had a lot less change in the crap on his arm than I got on mine.”

“This isn’t crap, Dean, these are names!” The angel traced the crudely-drawn lettering. “There are fewer letters because my name is longer. You copied these from your brother’s arm?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “I had a lot of time to look at it, especially after he was taken away. I took a picture, practiced drawing it. I’ll be honest with you, Angel. I didn’t know they were names, but I knew they had something to do with the fucker that took my brother. I thought if I could figure out what they meant, maybe I could somehow use it against him? It’s pretty obvious you guys are keen on humans not being able to read Enochian.” He shrugged. “Guess it was a waste of time, huh? They’re just names.”

“Dean, this doesn’t make any sense. A chosen candidate has two names inscribed on their arm.” The angel tapped the first name. “This is Hael. She’s copper level, like me. Obviously, she was your brother’s collector. This?” He tapped the second name. “This is the name of the Archangel Lucifer. Normally, this would indicate that Hael was the collector who brought your brother to Lucifer. But that didn’t happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I know Hael,” the angel explained. “She’s still copper level. If she’d brought your brother in, given the Archangel Lucifer his vessel? That should have been an instant promotion to silver. Had I completed my mission, I would have been silver, as well. Bringing an archangel a vessel is that important, Dean. So why is she still copper?”

“You tell me. Or better yet, ask her?” Dean scowled. “It was a lady angel that came for Sammy. Some brunette, long hair, blue eyes.”

The angel nodded. “Hael’s current vessel fits that description.”

“Yeah, well, she’s the bitch that took my little brother away. And I’m here to tell you, she did take him away. And Lucifer absolutely has him. I saw him, Angel, with my own eyes.”

Angel glanced up at him, concerned. The candidate’s face had gone pale. The green eyes were staring at something far away, as though looking into memories he couldn’t forget. “I’m sorry,” Angel said quietly. “For what it’s worth? I’m sorry you lost your brother.”

Dean blinked, seeming to come back to himself. “Seriously?”

Angel nodded. “It’s obvious that you don’t think of your brother’s candidacy as an honor, and you’re mourning his loss. For that, I am sorry.”

Some of the familiar anger had returned to Dean’s eyes. “Well, I’m sorry, too. But I can’t say I’m sorry that your girlfriend didn’t get her big bonus. Yeah, it’s suspicious, and something we should look into. But if I ever see that bitch, the only thing I’m going to want to do is nail her in the face with a holy oil molotov. So, if you don’t mind, how about you ask her about it away from me?”

The angel looked up. “Ask her about it?”

Dean nodded, still scowling. “Yeah. Everyone knows you guys are telepaths. You hear people praying to you, and you can communicate with each other, right? So, use that angel radio telepathy you guys have and ask her. Just don’t get caught. The tattoo will still keep her from finding you, right?”

“It should,” the angel said slowly. “As long as we move immediately after I contact her, we might be able to stay out of her reach. But if I ask her, it’s likely she’ll realize I still haven’t given you to Michael.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “No one on the God Squad has noticed that yet?”

“Dean, I am hidden from their eyes,” the angel reminded. “They probably think I’m dead. At this point, since you’re hidden as well, a decision is likely being made as to if they should move forward on searching for you, or find another vessel for Michael. If they decide on another vessel, first they have to remove the original.”

Dean’s eyes grew wide. “What’s that mean?”

“It means they destroy you, Dean,” the angel explained. “Now you understand the urgency?” He shook his head, seeing the human pale. “Don’t worry too much. Knowing Michael, he’s not going to want to give you up. So the angels will likely be splitting their attention between finding you, and seeking out a way to hide the fact that you’ve escaped. This whole incident is, as you might have guessed, extremely embarrassing to Heaven. They need to get you to Michael as quickly as possible, so he can claim you and pretend nothing went wrong. And since I am very much alive, that will be difficult.”

Dean raised his arm. “Because your name’s already branded onto me, right?”

“Exactly.”

Dean had gone very still. “And the best way to change that is to kill you? That’s why it, isn’t it?” he continued when the angel looked down. “That’s why you let me take you. I busted you up, you can’t take me to Michael until you heal, and every day that goes by, Michael gets more embarrassed. He won’t wait. He’ll just kill you and send some other angel to collect me for him instead!”

“Yes,” the angel admitted. “Destroying me will clear your soul, allowing another collector to claim you in my place. That’s the easiest way to give you to Michael.”

“Well in that case, it’s all the more reason for us to get to Bobby’s and fast,” Dean urged. “If we...”

“Excuse me, sir?”

They looked up, seeing the waitress from before. She looked very anxious, pale and with a sheen of sweat, and her hand on Dean’s shoulder. Odd. The angel glanced at Dean and saw similar confusion in his eyes. “Yes?” Dean asked.

“Could I ask you to please come with me for a moment?” she said timidly. “I hate to interrupt, but it’s very important.”

“Of course,” the angel said, starting to get up.

“NO! No,” the girl corrected. She’d started to shake now. “Just him. Please? It really is important!”

Dean nodded. “Just wait here, Angel.”

The angel didn’t think this was a good idea, but he nodded anyway. “Call me if you need me.”

Dean nodded again. He got up, following the anxious girl as she all but dragged him away.

Then suddenly a man in a deputy sheriff’s uniform charged in from the kitchen. In one hand he waved a gun that he leveled into the angel’s face. “Freeze!” he yelled. “I got you, you sick, kidnapping fuck!”


	10. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When chaos ensues, the only question is why?

It was like watching a train crash in slow motion. At the sound of the deputy’s voice, Dean turned, started back towards the angel. The waitress grabbed his arm and yanked, forcing him to stumble back. Then two more people were on Dean, another waitress and a man dressed as a cook, all intent on dragging Dean into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Angel was getting to his feet with an irritated look in his eye. Dean’s mind flashed back, hearing Angel telling him that threatening an angel was punishable by death. Already, Angel’s eyes were starting to show the telltale blue glow. _“Angel!”_ he roared. _“Don’t do it!”_

Angel’s eyes went to Dean, widened in surprise. His head had just cocked in that familiar manner he used when the angel was confused before Dean couldn’t see him anymore.

Unable to convince Dean to move willingly, the cook had resorted to dumping Dean over his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?” Dean yelled. “Put me down!”

“It’s ok,” the first waitress assured him. “You’re safe. We won’t let him hurt you.”

“Hurt me? He’s my friend! We came in together, you just served us!”

She clung to his hand. “It’s alright, Dean. Just relax. You’re safe.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean called. “How the hell did you know my name?” He shook his head. “Never mind, just put me down!”

“Stockholm Syndrome,” the other waitress, an older woman Dean would have expected to have more sense, announced. “Poor boy! But just wait. The angels will come for you soon.”

“Um, about that,” Dean said weakly.

“There’s a reward for this, right?” the cook asked eagerly. “We’re saving you! The angels will reward us once Michael takes you.”

Oh, hell no. Dean threw himself sideways, managing to twist off of the cook’s shoulder. He pushed the waitresses into each other, gut punched the cook, and got back out in time to see Deputy Dog crumple to the floor. “Shit! Dammit, Angel, I told you not to...”

“To put him to sleep?” Angel shrugged. “What else would you have had me do?”

“Never mind. Come on!” Grabbing Angel by the wrist, Dean charged out of the diner and into the street, dragging the confused angel behind him.

Whatever weirdness was going on was apparently still happening. He could hear sirens rapidly approaching. Dean ran through somebody’s yard, jumped a gate, hopped the fence on the other side, trampled through a flower garden and waded across a narrow creek. Angel kept up with him with only a slight stumbling when Dean had first started dragging him. Dean was too busy running to be impressed.

“Where are we going?” Angel asked.

“Right now, I’d settle for ‘far away from here,’” Dean panted. “After that, we’ll make it up as we go along.”

Dean was all set to keep running when Angel suddenly stopped. With the tight grip Dean had on his wrist, Dean ended up jerked backwards. “Angel, what the hell?”

Angel’s face had gone grave. His eyes were fixed on the sky. “We are not alone.”

Dean looked up. Back in the direction they’d come, ominous columns of purple-black smoke were snaking through the sky, all heading towards the diner. Dean felt his heart beating hard in his chest. “What are they?”

“Demons.”

“But, how did they find us?” Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from the smoky snakes. “They sensed it when you used your mojo on Deputy Dog?”

Angel shook his head. “It takes very little Grace for me to put a human to sleep. While it’s true I should avoid the use of any more, I doubt that’s what brought them in. More likely they followed the same police report that those police officers did. They’re not here for me.”

“I do not like the sound of that,” Dean said.

Angel nodded. “That deputy believed I’d kidnapped a platinum-level candidate. He had no idea I was an angel. These demons are here for you, Dean.”

“But the tattoos, the demon wardings? They’ll hide us, right?”

Angel’s eyes were solemn as they watched the demon clouds descend on the diner. “For now. But it’s best that we keep moving.” His eyes went to Dean. “We need to move, but if we run, we’ll likely draw attention to ourselves. Are you able to continue at a brisk walk?”

“Hell yes!”

Brisk walking brought them to the edge of town quickly. Before long, they were walking through fields of growing crops. The smell of cow manure made Dean’s eyes water. He glanced over at Angel, annoyed to see he was deep in thought and not at all bothered. After a while, the silence started getting on Dean’s nerves. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Angel glanced over at him. “What would I do with a penny?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, it’s... Never mind. What are you thinking about so hard over there?”

“I’m thinking that this doesn’t make sense.”

Dean scoffed. “No shit! This is crazy. Bad enough the angels want me, but now the fucking demons...?”

“That’s what doesn’t make sense.” Angel kicked at a stick in his path, frowning down at the ground. “It’s obvious that the demons would want you, Dean. You’re a platinum-level candidate, and the King of Hell thinks he can use you as leverage over Michael.”

Dean stopped walking. “Wait, did you say the King of Hell?!”

Angel nodded moodily. “Crowley. He’s the biggest risk we take by giving candidates a lunar month before we take them. He knows how precious candidates are to us, especially those chosen by higher-level angels. It caused a lot of fighting at first, demons trying to snatch angel candidates. We had to guard them constantly or take them immediately. Either way, it didn’t really give them time to procreate.”

“Oh, what a pity,” Dean said dryly.

Angel either didn’t notice or ignored this. “Eventually, we had to make a deal with him in order to stop the fighting. He leaves our candidates alone for one lunar month. Then we have to either take them or make new arrangements with Crowley for him to let them alone.”

“What happens if the women become pregnant?”

“We can still take them,” Angel explained, missing the expression on Dean’s face. “Pregnant vessels can give birth, and we can then hide the infants with human families to raise. It’s only a minor inconvenience, resolved after birth. Pregnancy really doesn’t affect our ability to take a vessel. But we have to take our candidates after that lunar month according to our contract or they’re fair game.”

“So, when I got away, that must have really stirred things up, huh?” Dean asked, curious in spite of himself.

Angel squirmed. “Normally, it would have, yes. If Michael hadn’t been ready to take you, I would have been expected to protect you. For a platinum-level candidate, I would have normally been assigned a team of guardian angels for that task. But my, well, unique situation made it difficult for Heaven to track me. My friend made it seem as though I was with you, with full angelic back-up, making sure you were spreading your genes as much as possible to enable future high-level candidates to be born...”

“Yeah, I was doing just fine with that on my own,” Dean mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“...And no one was the wiser. Until now.” Angel shook his head. “That’s why it doesn’t make sense!”

“Ok, you lost me, bud,” Dean admitted. “It’s pretty obvious that they figured out we’re in the wind. Those people back there knew exactly who I was, and knew to call the cops on us. Obviously, Michael knows I’m missing.”

“Exactly!” Angel threw his hands up, exasperated. “Dean, you are a platinum-level candidate. You’re a huge prize for the King of Hell, and the demons clearly know you’re here. But I don’t have any back-up to help me protect you, and I’m injured and weak. I can’t protect you, Dean!”

“Oh,” Dean said quietly.

Angel rolled his eyes. “Yes, ‘Oh’ is correct. You probably couldn’t sense it, but it was all-out war back there, once the angels arrived and found the demons already there. Who knows how many were lost on both sides in the fighting?”

Dean felt cold. “That means humans got caught in the middle, huh?”

“Absolutely!” Angel frowned at him with narrowed eyes. “Do you honestly believe that Michael wants that, for his chosen vessel to be the grand prize in a race between Heaven and Hell?”

“You’re right,” Dean realized. “That doesn’t make sense. So why’d he do it?”

“I don’t know.” Angel’s shoulders slumped. “We’ve never lost a candidate as important as you, Dean, but we have lost candidates before. The forces of Heaven were mobilized, a search was initiated, and the candidates were always found quickly. Of course, you have certain advantages. Your mind is too powerful for most angels to read, for one...”

“You said what?”

“And of course, you’re hidden.” He waved towards Dean’s chest. “I regret doing that. I was selfish, thinking only of myself, and let myself be swayed by you. I should...”

“Angel, stop it!” Dean ordered. “If you go back now, Michael’s going to tear you apart, isn’t he? Isn’t he?! Uh huh,” Dean said, seeing Angel’s blue eyes darken and look away, “I thought so. The only way you can drag me back to Heaven now is if you turn yourself in. Then you get imprisoned or worse, I’m forced to be a vessel, and neither one of us wants that.”

“Why?” Angel asked, turning his eyes back to Dean. “Why are you so set against being a vessel?”

“We went over this,” Dean reminded. “This isn’t something I want. You’re forcing me, and it’s wrong.”

Angel cocked his head. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want it!” Dean shook his head. “I had a life, Angel. It wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t easy, but it was mine, the life I chose for myself. I had family, friends, people I cared about. Look, think of it like this. You want to be a silver angel, right? But if you go back now, you’re pretty sure that’s not going to happen, especially if I fight Michael every step of the way and he finds out I got the better of you. You’re on the run now, lost and alone. You’ve gotta be scared, right? All because some damned human used a banishing sigil on you.”

“We still need to talk about how, exactly, you knew about that sigil.”

“Later.” Never, but Angel didn’t need to know that. “The point is, you’re unhappy, right?”

“So?”

“So?” Dean echoed, incredulous. “Angel, what is the point of living if you’re not happy? You’ve got all of eternity ahead of you! Do you really want to spent it miserable? Ah,” he said, seeing Angel look away again. “That’s why I don’t want to be Michael’s vessel. Whatever he might do to you? If he took me, it would be worse, because he might _not_ kill you.”

“Unlikely,” Angel muttered.

“But still possible,” Dean insisted. “And someday, he might even decide to forgive and forget, let you out of whatever prison in the clouds he threw you into after he got done beating you up.” Dean nodded at the look on Angel’s face. “I know you’re thinking there’s next to zero chance of any of that happening. But I’m at that zero for sure. If Michael took me, I would never, ever get away. And I’d know it. I’d be trapped there, in my own mind, watching him use me, maybe even hurt those I care about, and there would be nothing... Nothing I could do. Frankly, I’d take your chances over mine any day!”

Perceptive blue eyes seemed to look through him. “What happened to you? What is it that makes you so afraid?”

“I saw what Lucifer did to my brother,” Dean admitted. “The last time I saw him, he was on TV. Lucifer, inside of Sammy, wearing his white suit that Dad spent most of our savings on, announcing that he was taking over Detroit and the surrounding area. Someone protested, and he just did this.” Dean snapped his fingers. “That’s all it took. The guy just, like, vaporized! Sammy, my baby brother, who’d never hurt anyone. Sam wanted to be a lawyer to protect people. Instead, that fucking archangel used him to murder a man for daring to want to be free. And then when we tried to stop him, he... He...”

“What?”

Dean looked over at Angel and found he couldn’t say the words. “I’ll tell you later, ok? My point is, I can’t imagine how my brother felt, watching himself doing those awful things. Everything he was, it’s gone, trapped inside of his own mind. He’s been trapped for a year. I have to save him!”

“Save him?” Angel echoed. “What do you mean?”

Dean flushed, realizing he’d said too much. “Nothing, I just mean I can’t go through that. I need to be free, Angel. That’s why I can’t go to Michael. And for what it’s worth, I really am sorry. I never meant to hurt you. You’re actually pretty decent to me, considering.” He gestured towards his companion. “That’s why I want to help you. Angel, where we’re going, my friend Bobby? He’s got a lot of information on angels. Now before you start molting about it,” Dean added quickly, seeing Angel frown, “I know it’s illegal, ok? But listen. I’m the only one who can give you back your name, right? I just have to say it?”

Angel nodded. “But I have no way to let you know what it is.”

“Well, Bobby has lists of angel names,” Dean explained. “We can look through them. You can point out your own name if it’s already written in English, right?”

“Yes,” Angel said. He nodded slowly, a smile growing on his lips as he warmed to the idea. “Yes, that would work!” His smile faded.

“You’re worried about what you’d do after that, aren’t you?” Dean asked softly. “Well, once the name thing is resolved, you’ll heal up, right? So, you’d be healed, have your wings back, and still be hidden from angels and demons. What’s the problem?”

“I’m an angel of the Lord, Dean,” Angel reminded. “I was created to serve. My only purpose is to serve Heaven. Without that, what’s left for me?”

“What’s left is what _you_ want,” Dean stressed. “You, not the archangels. You could serve your own purpose, one that makes you happy.”

“I don’t know what makes me happy.”

“Well, that cheeseburger did it,” Dean pointed out. “You can take up, I don’t know, knitting, or beekeeping...”

Angel made a face. “I’ve never been overly fond of bees.”

“Whatever!” Dean shook his head. “My point is, you literally have all the time in the world to figure out what makes you happy. Try everything. Try anything. That’s the whole point of free will, the freedom to find out what it is that makes you happy.”

Angel didn’t answer. He appeared lost in thought.

“Why don’t you join us?” Dean asked impulsively.

Angel looked up. “Join you?”

Dean put a hand on his companion’s shoulder. “I know you’re not completely won over yet. But I also see that you’re starting to understand. It’s alright,” he soothed, seeing the distress on Angel’s face. “Angel, you’re a good guy. You’ve been fed a whole lot of bullshit, but you’ve already proven to me that you never really bought into it. Otherwise, you would have just called for help back when I burned you.”

“It’s true,” Angel admitted, staring at the ground. “I’ll admit, there’s been a lingering doubt in the back of my mind, ever since the day my friend left. Perhaps you’re right, Dean, that I shouldn’t have reported him. He asked me to come with him, and I refused. I thought I was doing the right thing. I told myself that he was wrong for wanting to fall. But maybe... Maybe he wasn’t completely wrong?” His shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Dean. Never, in all my existence, have I had so many doubts.”

Dean’s heart ached. Since the day they’d met, he’d only seen Angel as this powerful, invincible being determined to force him into a fate worse than death. But now... Now he saw a young man wearing a trench coat that didn’t quite seem to fit him, walking with his arms over his chest and a lost, frightened look in his eyes. Angel looked more like a lost boy than a powerful warrior of Heaven. “Hey,” he called, slipping an arm around the shorter man, “it’s ok. Really. With you on our side, we’ve got a chance to make things right.”

Angel didn’t look up. But Dean smiled when he moved to walk a little closer.

****

They bedded down for the night in an old barn. Whatever hay there once was had now rotted. Dean’s jacket served as their pillow, while Angel covered them both with his trench coat. It seemed the angel was asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

Dean watched him for a time, waiting to be sure the angel was sound asleep. Then he carefully crawled out, walked out of the barn, and checked his phone. Two bars. Well, it would have to do. He called Bobby.

The old man answered quickly. “Where are you?”

Dean told him. “Bobby, listen, about this plan you had,” he began. “Angel’s just about come around now, and...”

“Good! You keep that angel trusting you, boy, and bring him in. We’ve got those Enochian cuffs. They’re sure to hold him while we get what we need from him.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “That’s the thing. I don’t think we’ll need to chain him up and torture him, Bobby. In fact, I’m sure of it. Angel... He’s not like the rest of those flying dicks. He’s awkward, and goofy. He makes air quotes with his fingers and calls people assbutts and...” He shook his head. “Truth is, he’s a lot less all-powerful than he is, well, kind of adorable, to be honest.”

“Dean, I don’t care if he’s Heaven’s most adorable angel!” Bobby exclaimed, obviously exasperated. “That thing is the best chance we’ve got. Don’t get attached to him, you idjit!”

Hearing the old man he loved like a father refer to Angel as a thing stung in a way Dean hadn’t expected. “Just hear me out, ok? I’ll bring him in, let you chain him up if you insist on it...”

“I do!”

“Fine, but then, would you please just talk to him?” Dean pleaded. “He’s different, Bobby. He wants to help. I think, if we play our cards right, he might just join us!”

Bobby gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, I’ll sit down and have a beer with him. Just bring his feathered ass here. I got a contact in the next county who can give you a ride most of the way. Play your cards right, and remember - no angel is worth more than the humans he can help us save. You got that?”

“I got it, I got it.” Dean sighed. He listened to the rest of Bobby’s instructions, hung up, and returned to the barn.

Angel was still asleep. Moonlight shone through the slats of the barn, falling on him as he slept beneath the trench coat. He looked like, well, exactly what he was. Bobby, Dean believed, would listen to him and not hurt Angel. But Bobby wasn’t alone. Could the two of them protect Angel from the rest of the angel hunters?

Dean didn’t have an answer to that.

Carefully crawling under the trench coat, Dean closed his eyes. Angel was a warm comfort against his side, helping him fall into a troubled sleep.


	11. Dark Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under attack, Dean and Angel must make a difficult choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I meant to publish this much sooner, but thought it might be more fun to fall into a windowframe and give myself traumatic brain injury and post-concussion syndrome. Please keep that in mind and let me know if you find any glaring errors.

Later, Dean couldn’t explain what happened. One minute, he was sleeping next to Angel. And the next, it was chaos. Hard hands had hold of Dean, dragging him back. He opened his eyes to find the barn was surrounded by people with jet black eyes.

Angel was up. Some sort of triangular silver dagger was in his hand. His eyes blazed a furious blue light as he stabbed the dagger into his opponent. The man screamed, light shining from beneath his skin to fade out as the man collapsed. Angel stabbed a second attacker and slammed the palm of his hand against the forehead of a third. “Dean!” he yelled.

“Angel!” Dean twisted around and punched the man - demon, he must be a demon - in the face. To his shock, the man barely reacted, shaking off the blow and still dragging Dean out.

Then Angel was there. The triangular blade of his dagger stabbed upwards beneath the demon’s jaw. Light flashed, and the hands holding Dean were gone. Dean twisted away. He looked around, seeing with dismay that a number of figures were blocking the light coming through the slats, moving quickly around the barn. “How many are there?”

“Too many.” Angel’s face was grim. He had Dean by the arm and was pulling him back towards where they’d slept. “Someone must have seen us, or at least figured out which way we’d gone. We’re surrounded.”

“What are you going to do?” Dean asked anxiously.

Angel was reaching down, picking up his trench coat. “The only thing I can.” He tossed the coat over Dean’s face. “Use that to protect your eyes, and keep them closed tight!”

Dean obeyed. A moment later, light that rivaled the sun washed over him, blue white but without heat. Screams rang in his ears. Then everything was silent.

Dean cautiously peaked out from behind the coat. “Angel?”

“I’m here.”

Dean looked down to discover with alarm that Angel had collapsed. All around him were bodies with burned-out eyes. Angel was panting. His face was pale and sweaty. His arms shook as he tried to support himself. Obviously, the angel had all but exhausted himself to defeat the demons. “Angel!”

He quickly moved to help Angel up, only to have the angel shove at him. “I don’t know how they found us, but they know we’re here now. There will be more, Dean. They won’t stop until they have you. You’ve got to get out of here.”

“Not without you. Come on, get up!”

Angel struggled to his feet. He leaned heavily on Dean as they stumbled out and into the field. Dean looked around frantically. Which way should he run? Back towards the town? No, they were already searching for them there. But all he could see ahead and to either side was open fields. He started forward, half-dragging the angel along with him.

They weren’t even a hundred yards away before Angel collapsed.

Dean pulled desperately on his arm. “Angel, come on!” he pleaded. “Please, I know you’re hurt, but you’ve got to get up. You can do it!”

Angel nodded, struggled back to his feet. He swayed, leaned against Dean.

Dean steadied his friend and was about to try moving again when something caught his eye. Looking up, he saw a familiar set of snaking purple-black clouds. “No,” he groaned. “Angel, what do we do?”

Angel hooked an arm around Dean’s neck, pulling his head close. “Listen to me,” he whispered. “I need you to take that coat and find someone.”

Dean glanced down. He hadn’t even realized he still had the trench coat. “Wait, what?”

“Just listen! There’s someone who believes like you do, that free will is worth fighting for,” Angel whispered. “Your kind calls him the Trickster. I don’t know how to find him, Dean, but maybe, with your friends? You can. If you show him that coat, he’ll know I sent you.”

“Hold on! Why can’t you show him yourself? Angel, what the hell are you doing?!”

“As much as I can to hold them off. There’s nothing I can do to save myself now. But I still have a chance to save you.” He gave Dean a shove. “Go, Dean! Run!”

“And leave you to that?!” Dean jabbed a finger towards the boiling clouds. “You can barely stand! You can’t fight, you won’t stand a chance!”

“I’m an angel, Dean.” Angel’s voice was strong, despite the strain on his face as he stood upright. “Even in my current state, I’m far stronger than you are. They may take me down, but I’ll take as many with me as I can. It should be enough to slow them down, give you a chance.”

Dean shook his head. “You’re my friend, Angel. I’m not leaving you. Forget it!”

“If you don’t leave now, we are both lost!” Angel gave Dean another shove. “If you are truly my friend, then find him, Dean. He’s the only chance you have now.”

His eyes turned towards the town, where the purple-black clouds had been replaced by dust clouds. Vehicles, dozens of them, all driving at breakneck speed towards them. Dean had little doubt that every driver and passenger in those vehicles had telltale black eyes. “I can’t leave you!” Dean cried, desperately.

“Goodbye, Dean.” Once again, Angel’s eyes were glowing blue. He turned his back on Dean, walking with strength Dean hadn’t realized he still had towards the oncoming vehicles.

Dean staggered away. His fists were clenched at his side, watching Angel as he went to face the demons. The single silver dagger in his hand seemed woefully inadequate compared to the approaching mob. Everything in him wanted to grab his friend, drag him away kicking and screaming if he had to. But he knew Angel was right. There was nothing Dean could do to save him now. All he could do was try to make Angel’s sacrifice mean something.

The Trickster. He had to find the Trickster.

****

By the time Dean met up with Bobby’s friend, he was exhausted, paranoid, and heartbroken. The man wasn’t pleased when Dean threw a splash of the holy water he’d managed to steal from a church in his face. At least he understood. It said something about the kind of people Bobby kept company with. Dean couldn’t bring himself to care. All he could think about was Angel. As he’d raced to safety, once again the blue-white light had washed over the landscape. Even as he’d run, he’d known that the light was far less intense than it had been before. But it had bought him time. No vehicles came after Dean. By the time another wave of purple-black clouds had raced across the sky, Dean had managed to run to the road and sneak on the back of a truck that had stopped at a stop sign.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to look back. He couldn’t bear to watch what would happen to Angel. Even if his friend had somehow survived the mob, Dean knew he’d never survive this third wave of demons. In his mind, Dean could picture Angel, a young man with blue fire in his eyes and a silver dagger in his hand, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, standing all alone against a mob of demons. Angel had been determined to take as many demons down with him as he could. How many had fallen? Since none had come after Dean, he supposed that, at the very least, Angel had managed to disable their vehicles. Had he suffered? Had he cried out to a Heaven that had turned its back on him as he was brought down? In his final moments, had he regretted listening to Dean, trying to help the human he’d been sent to bring to his archangel? What happened to an angel when he died? Was there some kind of angel Heaven? Or had he simply stopped, a brilliant light gone out forever, making the universe just that much darker?

It didn’t matter in the end. Angel was gone. Dean would never see him again. The pain was too fresh to mourn. Dean channeled it into sullen, burning anger. He’d find the Trickster, and somehow, he would make the King of Hell pay. He’d avenge his friend’s death. That was the only comfort Dean had as he held Angel’s folded-up trench coat tight against his chest.

They drove for hours. The man had initially tried to make polite conversation. Dean responded with a few grunts, staring moodily out the window. The man got the message and went silent.

At some point, Dean dropped into an uneasy sleep. The driver woke him up briefly at a gas station. Dean had gone in to use the facilities. He’d splashed water over his face, mopped at it with a towel, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. The wide, hollow green eyes that looked back at him were familiar. He’d seen his eyes looking like that once before.

_They’d drugged him. Dean had realized it too late. His father had pushed him down on the bed of the cheap motel, whispering in his ear. “It’s alright, Dean. You just rest now. I know you’ll be pissed at me for this, son, but I can’t risk losing you both. You just sleep, and when you wake up, if everything goes well, we’ll be here with your brother.”_

_Dean hadn’t been able to do anything more than mumble. If he could have spoken, he would have screamed at his father, screamed at Bobby who stood nearby, cursed them both for leaving him behind. But all he could do was close his eyes. His father’s hands had pulled the blankets over him, smoothed back his hair. Lips pressed to Dean’s forehead. Then darkness swallowed him._

_“Dean? Wake up, son.”_

_Waking up from sedation was difficult. Dean swam up through the drug-induced darkness, moving towards the sound of Bobby’s voice. He’d forgotten where he was, why this haze was present in his mind. But even still under the effects of the sedative, Dean had known something was wrong. It was clear in the pain, the weariness in Bobby’s voice. “Bobby?” he mumbled. “Wha’s wrong?”_

_Bobby helped him sit up, pressed a glass of cold water to Dean’s lips. Dean drank greedily, the cool liquid refreshing after... How long was he asleep? He blinked open his eyes, memory returning, and with it, his anger. “Son of a bitch!” Dean shrugged off Bobby’s hands. He looked around, seeing no one else in the motel room before his eyes focused on Bobby._

_Split lip. Bruised cheek. Swollen eye. Abrasion to the temple. Bobby’s greying beard had blood in it. So did his hair. His hat was dirty, his shirt torn. Dean’s heart raced. “Bobby? What happened?”_

_“We tried, Dean,” Bobby said, his gruff voice on the verge of breaking. “God knows, we tried. Your daddy tried talking to Sam while I got the spells ready. We thought it would work, at first. He stumbled, swayed, nearly fell down. But then he looked at me, and I knew. I knew, Dean. It wasn’t your brother looking at me.”_

_“Bobby?” Dean asked anxiously. “Bobby, what happened to Sammy? Where’s Dad?”_

_“Your dad’s gone, Dean. Lucifer, he just snapped his fingers, and there was nothing left of him.”_

_“No.” Dean felt like a gaping hole had just appeared beneath him to swallow him whole. “No, Bobby, that’s not true. It can’t be true! Sam wouldn’t hurt Dad!”_

_“Dean, I need you to hear me now.” Bobby’s hands, calloused from years of working on engines, gripped Dean’s. “What we saw tonight was not your brother. He’s wearing your brother’s skin, but Sam isn’t there anymore. He was smiling when he destroyed John. Smiling!” He shook his head. “For the life of me, I can’t understand why I’m still alive. He looked at me, smiled and raised his hand, all set to snap those fingers a second time. But then his smile just faded. It was almost like...” Bobby looked away. “Doesn’t matter. Maybe he just thought he’d proven I wasn’t a threat, so he didn’t have to bother with me anymore. He waved his hand and I went flying. Felt like this huge wind picked me up and blew me over. I went down, and he went on his way just like nothing happened. Never even glanced in my direction again. It was like I wasn’t even worth his attention.”_

_Dean felt the beginnings of a scream building inside. He desperately shoved it down, searching for something, anything, to grab onto in its place. Settling on anger, he clutched at Bobby’s arm. “We’ll try it again, both of us,” he urged. “If Lucifer didn’t kill you, it’s because Sammy came back to himself enough after he saw our dad die to exert some control. That’s why Lucifer ignored you! Sammy’s in there, and now he’s more awake. He’s waiting for us to help him. If I talk to him, the way Dad and I had planned to do, you could find some stronger spells and...”_

_“Dean, I need you to listen to me!” Bobby yelled. “Your brother isn’t dead, but he’s not alive any more than your daddy is now. John Winchester just died proving once and for all that the angels have complete control. Or do you really believe your brother would have stood back and let Lucifer kill him if there was any way he could have prevented it?”_

_“He’s buried,” Dean said desperately, hating the sound of it in his voice. “Sammy’s buried deep, that’s all. But he’s there, Bobby! My brother couldn’t stop Lucifer from killing our dad, but we both know you’ve been more of a father to us both than he was for years now. That’s why he couldn’t let him kill you. You know how close I am to my brother. If I talk to him, I can draw Sam out again, and you can use stronger spells to...”_

_“Enough!” To Dean’s shock, the bellow was followed by a harsh sob. And then Bobby was embracing him, crying into Dean’s shoulder. “There are no stronger spells. We can’t save your brother. He’s gone, Dean. I’m sorry, but your brother is gone. I lost him, I lost John. But I can’t lose you!”_

_“You won’t,” Dean promised, fighting his own tears. “I’ll help you with the research. We just need to keep looking, find stronger...”_

_“There are no stronger spells, Dean, don’t you understand?” Bobby’s arms were tight around him. “Lucifer is an archangel. I hit him with the strongest spells I had. And it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough! I couldn’t drive him out, and your father... Your father...”_

_That was when Dean lost the last faint shreds of hope he had, and with it, the battle to keep his tears at bay._

Dean stared at his reflection, hating the tears that streaked his cheeks. He splashed more water on his face. His mind was playing back every image he’d seen since that terrible day. Lucifer, inside his brother’s body, still wearing the expensive white suit his father had bought when he’d still believed that he was sending his youngest son to a better life. Despite what Lucifer had done to the man who’d purchased it, the suit itself was always immaculate. It gleamed, white and pristine, made a mockery by the creature who wore it. And how the crowds had cheered every time the archangel made a public appearance. Even when the world had seen, live on camera, when someone had challenged Lucifer and he’d destroyed the man in the same fashion he’d used to destroy John Winchester, those in power had justified it. The news supported it. And still, the crowds cheered.

Somewhere in Detroit, Lucifer waited. Was Dean lying to himself, that Sammy was still there as well? Or was Sam as broken now as the vessel Angel had used?

There was a knock at the door. “Dean? I got you a sandwich and some coffee, but we need to get moving. If we drive the rest of the night, you should get there by morning.”

“Be right out!”

Dean once again dried his face. He glared at himself in the mirror. “You’re done crying,” he told his reflection. “It’s time you got to Bobby and started fighting again.”

****

Dean asked his new friend a bit about what the angel hunters had in mind. By the time they finally reached Bobby’s cabin and parted ways, Dean was ready to explode. “What the hell?!” he roared, storming in the door. “Whose idiotic idea was it to tell the cops I was a kidnapping victim?!”

Bobby wasn’t alone. A group of people Dean didn’t recognize looked up as Dean stormed in. Bobby got up to greet Dean with a hug. Then he pointed towards a dark-haired man sitting at the table with a notebook computer. “That’s Ketch. It was his idea, but we all went along with it.”

“Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Winchester?” The guy had a manner of speaking that immediately made Dean’s hackles rise. “I believe there’s something you should see.”

Dean glanced at Bobby, who nodded. He looked back at Ketch, narrowed his eyes, and sat where the man had directed him.

Ketch either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He tapped on the keyboard a bit longer. Then he turned the screen so that Dean could see it.

There was Angel. He looked exhausted in the picture. His eyes had dark circles beneath them, but Dean couldn’t tell if he was looking at fatigue or bruises. Angel had an obvious bruise on his cheek, blood under his nose and on his lip. More blood, along with visible wounds through rends in his shirt, were on his torso and arms. Angel was strapped into something, a raised table or chair. Standing over him, grinning at the camera, was a man. The man wore a smarmy smile and a dark suit he’d covered with a butcher’s apron. The apron was stained with blood. So was the familiar triangular silver dagger in the man’s hand.

“Angel!” Dean exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “What the hell are we doing sitting around here? We have to help him!”

“Calm down, Dean,” Bobby sighed. “Apparently, this was the plan all along.”

Dean went still. “Someone needs to start talking.”

“Happy to.” Ketch gave him a smug smile. “Sit down, Mr. Winchester. We were just about to have breakfast.”

“Breakfast?!” Dean clenched his fists. “The only thing I am doing is saving my friend. You can come with me or not, but I’m not about to sit around eating when Angel’s out there being tortured by demons!”

“Dean?” Bobby’s hand was firm on Dean’s shoulder. “Sit down. You can’t help that angel right now.”

Dean shrugged off the hand. He looked around the room, seeing that he was being watched by a group of people who showed no sign of stirring from where they were sitting. “I don’t get it,” he complained. “Angel got caught because he was trying to protect me. I thought sure he was dead! Now I see a picture of him, kidnapped and tortured by what I assume is a demon?”

“King of Hell, actually,” Ketch corrected. “Crowley.”

“Whatever, he’s got Angel! Why the hell aren’t we helping him?!”

“Because what’s happening now needs to happen,” Bobby insisted. “And you can’t go charging blindly out the door. You can’t help anyone like that, not the angel or your brother.”

Dean froze. “You’re telling me that this is somehow part of a plan to save Sammy? Bobby, what’s going on?”

Bobby nodded towards Ketch. “What’s going on is that Ketch here has the best plan I’ve heard yet for finally finding a way to free angel vessels.”

Dean looked hard at Ketch. “I’m listening.”

“If you wish to have any chance at all at saving your brother, I suggest you have breakfast,” Ketch said. His voice was irritatingly cheerful. “After all, you can’t do much of anything without my help, and I have no intention of leaving this table without a full stomach. So do relax, would you? Get to know the rest of the team and have a bite. I do so hate plotting on an empty stomach.”


	12. The Man With The Trench Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ketch explains his plan, and gets some unexpected news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out post-concussion syndrome is a thing. I'm trying, bear with me.

After introductions were made, Ketch still insisted on breakfast. Dean poked moodily at his food. His stomach was churning so much that if he tried to eat, he feared he might just throw it all back up. His mind was even worse. The thoughts were flying through it at a mile a minute. Sam. Angel. Bobby. The hunters. Demons. It was all too much. He couldn’t process it. Finally, he gave up, put his fork down, and cradled his head in his hands.

“It’s ok, son,” Bobby said gently. “I know you’re upset about losing that angel, but it’s not your fault.”

“No, I will accept the blame for that,” Ketch said. “I knew the angels would put every effort into trying to protect him. And as a copper level angel, I expected he’d be able to fight off whatever the King of Hell threw at him. I never thought he’d be this weak, that the demons would actually be able to capture him.”

“I cannot believe you sicced them on us in the first place!” Dean exclaimed. He pointed a finger accusingly at Ketch. “We couldn’t figure out why the angels would admit they’d lost me and put a target on my back. I never thought it could be because some asshole intentionally tipped the police off, telling them I’d been kidnapped, knowing full well that it would bring every angel and demon for miles running after us!”

“He didn’t tell us that part,” Ellen growled. “Not until we started hearing reports about angels and demons fighting! Before that, he had us believing that he was using the police to force the angel to us.”

“I knew there was more to it,” Gordon announced. “Police would hardly be enough to herd an angel. Should have known he was actually planning to have demons and angels do it, but what made you so sure the angels wouldn’t swoop in and just scoop them both up?”

“The angels were the one thing I couldn’t entirely predict,” Ketch admitted. “With you both hidden, I wasn’t sure exactly what their reaction would be. But I knew, if demons showed up and the angel was forced to fight, they’d likely come to assist. Your angel would then have the chance to spirit Winchester away and continue his journey. Based on what we knew, I knew it was unlikely that the angel would cooperate with the other angels. It was the demons I was counting on. I wanted that angel to feel harried and desperate. It’s the only way my plan could work.”

“Yeah, well, your so-called ‘plan’ got Angel captured!” Dean pointed out. “This Crowley fucker’s going to kill him!”

“No, he won’t,” Ketch said calmly. “If he does, he loses the best leverage he’s got against Heaven - you. As long as your collector is alive, he’s the only one who can bring you to Michael. And as long as you’re alive, you’re the only candidate Michael can take. So I assure you, Crowley will keep that angel alive.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t torture him half to death,” Dean pointed out. “So what’s your plan for getting him out?” When no one answered, Dean straightened. “There IS a plan to get him out, right? Right?!”

“Calm down, Dean, no one has forgotten your angel friend,” Bobby assured. “If the King of Hell’s got him now, and this plan of Ketch’s doesn’t work? Well, we’ll just have to see about getting him back.”

“So we can torture him for information instead,” Dean said dully. “Tell me, what the hell’s the difference between us and the demons if we do that?”

Gordon scoffed. “Didn’t seem like it bothered you too much before! You know, an angel can’t actually be your friend. Somehow, I don’t see him giving up his secrets because you asked politely. Do you?”

Cole nodded, swallowing his latest bite of food. Apparently, there was nothing wrong with his appetite. “You want to save your brother, don’t you, Dean?”

“Yes, of course, more than anything!” Dean exclaimed. “But Angel...? I know you don’t believe me, but he was my friend. He was willing to give up his own life to save me. Now he’s out there somewhere, suffering, because I hurt him!”

“I heard you burned the wings off of the bastard,” Ellen said. “Nice work, kid!”

“It wasn’t intentional, but even that isn’t the worst of it,” Dean admitted. “I somehow managed to revoke his name, and that’s had him all messed up for over a month now.”

Ketch looked up. “Really, now? How do you mean?”

Dean explained what little he’d understood from what Angel had told him. Afterwards, he didn’t care much for the looks the angel hunters were exchanging. He shifted uncomfortably. “I agree with what you’re probably thinking, that this is something we can use to try to keep the angels from taking other candidates,” he began, “but only those who aren’t willing to be candidates in the first place. From what I’ve seen, those are few and far between.”

“It’s still good news,” Ellen insisted. She was already on her cell phone. “I’m texting my daughter that. You may have just saved my little girl, Dean. For that, I thank you.”

“It doesn’t help Angel, though.” Dean turned to Bobby. “You have all that lore, and lists of angel names. I thought, if I went through them, I could figure out what Angel’s name actually is?”

“Oh, we already know his name,” Cole began. “It’s...”

“No!” Ketch’s voice was sharp. “If the angel is weakened by this, he needs to stay weakened. Or would you prefer we have a full-powered, furious angel on our hands when we do rescue him? No, it’s best that Winchester never hears that particular name. That eliminates the chance of him saying it in error.”

“Too bad we can’t use that little name trick to bring down the Trickster a notch or two,” Cole grumbled.

Ketch grunted. “This collector of Winchester’s is all we need to bring the Trickster to heel.”

Bobby paused mid-bite to look at him. “We don’t even have him! You still think you can use Dean’s angel to bring the Trickster down?”

“Oh, I do indeed,” Ketch growled. “I’ve been tracking that bastard for some time. He’s been a busy boy, that one.”

“There you go, talking out of your ass again,” Gordon groaned. “How many times do I have to say it? The Trickster’s no collector! He’s got no interest in candidates, so why should he give a shit about some copper level?”

Ketch eyed him like a particularly revolting bit of refuse he’d stumbled over. “Because while I’ve no idea what rank he was before, now he’s taken on quite the leadership role. I have done a bit of research on him.” The Englishman gave Dean a smile that could only be described as predatory. “Before his vessel was chosen, the candidate’s wife gave him a gift. It was a tan trench coat. The poor sod loved it, wore it everywhere. In fact, he was wearing it when he was taken as the Trickster’s vessel.”

Dean straightened. “Wait a minute. You’re right. The Trickster is the one who gave Angel his coat!”

“Correct,” Ketch confirmed. “Forget whatever sob story he’s told you, Dean. Your precious Angel wasn’t sweet and innocent, playing his harp on a cloud. He was close personal friends with the Trickster himself. And whatever mischief the Trickster was up to, you can bet your ‘friend’ was part of it!”

“And that’s why you’re a damned fool for trusting him,” Gordon added. “Whatever he may have done to get himself captured by the King of Hell, he knew those demons wouldn’t kill him. All he’s got to do is call for help and then hold on long enough for the Trickster to come looking for him. The only thing he was really worried about was keeping you out of demon hands, because he’s still looking to hand you over to Michael!”

“Angel wouldn’t do that,” Dean insisted. “He’s... Well, maybe he’s not exactly my friend, but we respected each other. I seriously think he was coming around. He was finally starting to question if the whole candidate business was right.”

“Oh?” Cole raised an eyebrow at him. “You believe he wouldn’t have turned you over to Michael?”

“I don’t think he would,” Dean said slowly. He shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t. I don’t know what he was going to do, but I don’t believe he was going to give me to Michael. And if the demons hadn’t jumped us, if he hadn’t stayed behind to fight them?”

“Relax, kid,” Gordon said quietly. “No one’s blaming you for not sticking around to stand down a bunch of demons. The angel had a better chance alone, even wounded like you said he was.”

“And that was precisely the idea,” Ketch declared. “While Mr. Singer here is no doubt still upset at me for putting you at risk...”

“You’re damned right I am!”

“...In the end, I knew that the angel would choose do whatever it took, even facing the demons alone, rather than risk letting a platinum-level candidate fall into their hands,” Ketch finished, unfazed. “You were never in any real danger, other than the danger the angel himself represented.”

“But Angel is absolutely in danger,” Dean pointed out. “And I still haven’t heard anything about a plan for getting him back.”

Ketch seemed suddenly less sure. “I’m working on that. I hadn’t actually expected the demons to be able to capture him. I have no doubt that your angel will call the Trickster for help, and the Trickster will provide it. But while that will flush the Trickster, he’ll go to the angel, not to us. However, we are not without hope. I have contacts, people involved with the dark arts. Some of them have info on demons. They may be able to provide us some information, help us narrow down where the angel might be.”

“Not really,” Cole grumbled. “The demons keep their own council. If the angel is still alive, which I personally think is doubtful, then they likely took him somewhere abandoned.”

“The boy’s right,” Gordon called. “If you torture an angel, you create quite a mess. Things like burning bushes, microbursts, that sort of thing.”

“But Angel’s hurt,” Dean pointed out. “Could he still do all of that?”

“Even hurt, he’s still an angel,” Bobby said. “There’s bound to be signs.”

“So, all we’d have to do is watch for some weird signs, right?” Ellen asked, hopeful. “Track the signs, and we find the angel!”

“And how, exactly, do we do that?” Gordon asked. “There’s no telling what an angel’s agony might manifest. We’d have to do a massive search, pretty much over the entire continent if not the planet, with any number of factors. It’s impossible!”

“Not for me.”

They the first words Ash, who had arrived shortly after Dean, had said all morning, and it caused every eye to turn to him. The mulleted loner shifted, uncomfortable with the attention. “I used to work for the angels, in data collection,” he explained. “I know their systems, at least the ones they have here on Earth, because I helped build ‘em. If anyone would know what signs to watch for, then they’d be the ones. And the systems I designed are good enough to track ‘em. Dude, I can do this.”

Dean scoffed. “Seriously? This Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie is going to find Angel?”

“Sure.” Ash gave a shrug.

“Oh, really?” Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Prove it.”

“He already did,” Ellen chuckled. “You know that car of yours?”

“Baby. Bobby told me she got stolen.” Dean was still in mourning about that one.

“Not anymore, dude,” Ash explained. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s right outside. I drove her here. Sweet ride!”

Dean blinked. “I don’t know if I should laugh, cry, or kick your ass for not telling me when you walked in that door! How the hell did you find her?”

Ash shrugged again. “Simple. I just made an algorithm that watched for black ’67 Chevy Impalas. Soon as she showed up, I called some buddies, who called some connections, who had the cops pick her up. They locked up the bad guy, arranged to have her brought to me, and ta da!” Ash snapped his fingers. “Party time!”

Dean stared. “Ash, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I love you.”

“And that’s why I keep you around,” Ellen declared. “Ash, you really think you can find Dean’s angel?”

Ash gave a small smile. “Sure.”

Cole chuckled. “You, my friend, are full of surprises!”

Ash’s smile faded. He shifted his weight and scratched at the back of his neck. “Um, yeah, um, speaking of surprises? I kind of have one for you. You remember how you had me look into that Trickster guy, Ketch?”

Ketch suddenly straightened. “What of it? Without the angel, we’ve got nothing to lure him here.”

“You kind of do, dude.” Ash’s eyes fixed on Dean.

Dean stopped breathing. Bobby quickly got up and moved so he was standing protectively in front of Dean. Dean saw his fingers twitching towards the glock in his pocket. “Ash?” Bobby called. “What did you do?”

Ash found a fascinating spot on the floor. “He, um, caught me. The Trickster. I have no idea how, right? I mean, you know I’m super careful, but this guy?” He whistled. “I don’t know how he found me, but one day, I get this email. Someone wants to meet me. I’m curious, so I arrange a meet and it’s this weird guy. I’m thinking, dude, I don’t bat for your team, right? But then he starts talking and, whoa! I’m, like, blown away, you know?”

“Does this idiot ever get to the point?” Gordon complained.

“Whoa, zero perspiration, my man.” Apparently, nothing really got under Ash’s skin. “My point is, the dude’s stats all match up with the Trickster. It’s him, man. He wanted me to find him.” He indicated Dean. “Said it’s time they talked.”

“Excellent!” Ketch clapped his hands together. “And where will this meeting take place?”

“Hold it!” several people yelled at once.

Ketch looked around, annoyed. “What?”

“I know you,” Gordon accused. “You’re planning to take Dean out somewhere and use him as bait for the Trickster.” He looked at Bobby, whose face was turning an alarming shade of red. “You can’t trust Ketch when it comes to the Trickster. He’ll do anything, and I do mean anything, to get his hands on that bastard, and he doesn’t care what, or who, he has to sacrifice to make it happen.”

“I have no intention of sacrificing him!” Ketch snapped, finally showing a touch of temper. “I’m perfectly capable of protecting Winchester. And while I will admit that, if it came down to it, I would absolutely sacrifice him in order to capture the Trickster, there’s little chance that...”

“You’re not touching my boy,” Bobby announced. “I’ll put a bullet in your head before I let you put a finger on Dean. Whatever needs done, I’ll be the one doing it.”

Ketch rolled his eyes. “I’d already planned to take you along.”

“We’re all coming,” Cole announced.

Now Ketch shook his head. “No. I need the rest of you to set things up. Once we capture the Trickster, we’ll need to hide him, quickly. This cabin will work to start, but there’s another location I need you to prepare.” Ketch reached into a pocket and pulled out a box with an odd gold symbol. “This is a key to a bunker belonging to the Men of Letters. It’s where we’ve stored the bulk of the knowledge we were able to save from the angels. It’s heavily warded, the most secure place on Earth. And its dungeons have what we’ll need to keep the Trickster under control until we get what we need from him. Ellen, you’ll meet us halfway in the second of the two vans I’ve prepared for the transport. We’ll switch the Trickster to it and be on our way.”

“Works for me,” Ellen declared.

“Cole and I can fix up that bunker, I suppose,” Gordon grumbled. “I’d be a way better candidate for the capture team than this old man, though.”

“Fuck you, Gordon,” Bobby said pleasantly.

“Awesome.” Ash clapped his hands together. “So, we doing this thing?”

“We’re doing it,” Dean agreed.

“Alright!” Ash pranced over to his computer. His body jiggled as he typed, moving to a beat only he could hear. “Ok, here’s the goods. The Trickster wants to meet at these coords. I checked them out, got a satellite pic. It’s here.” He turned his screen so the others could see. “An old barn. Pretty damned far out from anything in the middle of nowhere, but it’s not that far from here. He wants to meet tomorrow night. Oh, yeah, one more thing. He says hello.”

Everyone stared at Ash. “Come again, please?” Cole asked.

“The Trickster,” Ash replied with a smile. “He says to tell Arthur Ketch he says hello. That’s you, right, dude?”

Silence. Then Gordon began to laugh. “Oh, that’s perfect! He knows you’re after him, Ketch. That means he’ll be prepared and ready to meet you in that barn. You dumb son of a bitch, you don’t stand a chance!”

“No way in hell,” Ellen agreed. “The Trickster is silver level, at least. You’re done, Ketch.”

“I beg to differ,” Ketch snarled. Once again, Dean was seeing the simmering fury that resided just beneath the surface of the otherwise-placid Englishman. “He knows I’m coming, but he’s tipped his hand. He’ll be prepared. So will I!” He turned, pointed a finger at Bobby. “Singer, you’re a capable man. You’re a veteran, with years of experience and knowledge.”

“Sure,” Bobby said proudly.

“Then I can assume two things,” Ketch continued. “First, you know enough about angels that you won’t be easily tricked.”

“I would imagine not. What’s the second thing?”

“That you can follow orders!” Ketch slammed his hands down at the table, making Cole startle. “I’m fully aware that your priorities are Winchester first, the Trickster second. But in order for the Trickster to be captured, we have to make him believe that he’s in control. He has to believe that we’re bringing him what he wants, and we can’t prevent him from simply taking Winchester. And for that to happen, we are going to have to bend a little.”

“We’re not putting Dean in danger!”

“Bobby!” Dean yelled. “If this guy is as powerful as you all think he is, and he knows Ketch is here with me now? What are our choices? Either we go to him, or he comes to us. The fact that he’s picked a location not far from here tells me he knows we’re somewhere in this general area. So if we don’t show up, sooner or later he’ll come knocking. Personally, as the guy in the most danger here? I’d rather go to him, when I know he’s coming and can prepare myself, than have him show up and snatch me in my sleep!”

“Your boy’s got a point, Singer,” Gordon grunted.

“I agree,” Cole said. “We’re not going to get another chance like this.”

“Ketch, everything I’ve heard about you says you’re the number one expert when it comes to fighting angels,” Ellen said. “But you’ve never gone against one this powerful. You have a plan for how you’re going to pull this off when this bastard knows you’re coming?”

“I do,” Ketch declared. “It will be dangerous, especially for Winchester. But if you’ll trust me, I sincerely believe we can pull this off.”


	13. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ketch, Bobby, and Dean prepare to confront the Trickster

Of all the places to meet a rogue angel, Dean thought, an old barn in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere was not one he would have chosen. To get there, they’d had to take a road that wasn’t even named on any map. Dean joked about Bob’s Road, but got no laughs. He sighed. Apparently, either no one else had ever seen “Twister,” or his amazing humor was every bit as wasted on Bobby and Ketch as it had been on Angel.

When they were finally in sight of the barn, Dean’s first thought was that a good hard sneeze might just knock it over. It didn’t seem like it was destined to become a historical building any time soon. Whatever farmer had built it had either died or abandoned it back about the time Eisenhower was in office. The fields were so full of scrub and weeds that they could hardly be called fields anymore. The ground around the barn was overrun with grass, brush, and small trees. About the only thing anyone could reasonably expect to harvest might be a good brushfire.

Fire would likely also do wonders to improve the building itself. While the walls were still reasonably intact (despite how it looked from the outside), the roofing was so full of holes and gaps that the rafters were visibly rotting. The floorboards were no better. They creaked and cracked beneath their feet, threatening to crumble completely as the trio walked into the barn. “What a dump,” Dean announced.

“Perfect place for this meeting, actually,” Ketch corrected. “Completely off the grid, away from any main roads, no one else around for miles.” He clapped his hands together, startling Dean. “Alright, gents! Let’s get to work.”

They got to work. Ketch found an old table and some rickety, unsafe-looking chairs to set around them. Then he got into a folder, produced a selection of printed forms, handed half to Bobby, and they started painting the walls.

With Bobby busy, Dean was the resident mechanic. His job was to set up the generator and lighting. The generator was easy enough. Finding a way to supply light to the barn was another story. Dean took a chance, scrambled up the folding ladder Bobby had in the back of his truck, and hung some lights from a few of the least-rotted rafters. To his surprise, it worked.

Job complete, Dean climbed back down and manned a crowbar, working to pry up most of the rotting floorboards. When he finished, he had a large section of bare ground. The doors of the barn were actually in decent shape. They’d been closed for decades, needing only a quick check of the bar to make sure they would stay that way under most circumstances. Physically, the barn was as secure as they could make it.

Dean had never seen so many weird symbols in one place in all his life. Some poor cop would someday find this place and be sure it was the site of an evil satanic ritual. Bobby and Ketch had been working for hours, painting the interior of the old barn with every glyph, ward, and sigil the two of them knew. The barn was now protected from every supernatural being but angels. Dean’s lights provided plenty of illumination. The chairs were certainly questionable, but the table looked like it might be decently sturdy. Dean moved to his assigned position behind it.

Now all they had to do was wait.

Dean paced. He experimented with different leaning positions against the table or an unmarked section of the wall. He carved his initials into the tabletop. He quizzed himself on everything he knew about his favorite bands. He’d reached the point where he’d unknowingly started humming Air Supply’s “All Out of Love” before Bobby irritably told him to sit down and be quiet.

“Sorry,” Dean sighed, climbing up to sit on the table. He still didn’t trust the chairs. “I’ve never been good at the whole hurry-up-and-wait thing.”

Bobby irritably turned his back on Dean. Dean sighed again. To an outside observer, it would appear Bobby was simply irritated with him. Dean, however, knew Bobby well enough to recognize the tense set of his shoulders, the way Bobby’s eyes constantly took note of wherever Dean was, and most of all, the way Bobby hovered at the front of the table, as close as he could get to Dean without circling the table itself. Bobby still wasn’t happy with this plan, especially Dean’s portion of it. “I’m ok, Bobby,” he said quietly. “I’m as safe back here as I can be.”

That earned him a glare and a low growl before Bobby went back to inspecting his weapon for the umpteenth time.

Ketch, meanwhile, was irritatingly calm. The man had the uncanny ability to stand absolutely still for an extended period of time. Once he’d finished with his markings and made sure everyone was in place, he’d stationed himself near the center of the barn, decked out in body armor. Then he’d gone to parade rest and simply waited. The man’s eyes never left the closed, barricaded doors of the barn. Dean wasn’t entirely sure if Ketch actually blinked.

Dean was just about to pull out his phone and play a game or something when the lights in the barn flickered. Then the metal roofing started rattling violently, as though battered by gale-force winds. Dean jumped to his feet, looking around. Several of the designs painted on the walls were glowing. Some started to smoke, others to melt completely away.

“Stay back, Dean!” Bobby warned. The old man was still standing in front of Dean, one hand back to keep Dean in relative safety behind the table while the other held his high-powered hunting rifle. The barrel never wavered from the door.

Dean wasn’t about to argue. His heart pounded like it was ready to burst through his chest. His hands shook as he raised his own weapon. Instructions raced through his mind. Open stance. Grip with both hands. Aim for center mass. Be sure of his target before firing. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it. Be prepared for the kickback. Years of hunting with Bobby and hours of practice on the range had taught Dean well. But this was far different than aiming at a paper target or an animal. Part of him wondered why he was even bothering? It wasn’t like an angel could be hurt or even slowed down by bullets. But it just didn’t seem right, at this moment, for Dean to not have a weapon in his hand.

Ahead, Ketch stood like a rock. With no weapon in hand, the man simply waited, eyes fixed on the door. Dick or not, Dean had to admit the guy had massive balls. Even when the door started rattling and finally burst open, revealing a figure outside, Ketch never even flinched. Instead, he raised his hands. One hand held Angel’s trench coat. “We mean you no harm,” he called. “We only want to talk.”

A man was slowly walking into the barn. As he came forward, the lights above him burst into showers of sparks that rained down, trailing over the man’s hair and running down his body, completely ignored. Instead, the man’s eyes locked briefly with Ketch’s before looking past him. The newcomer looked briefly at Bobby. Then he stared hard at Dean. 

The face was the same as the one Dean had seen on the driver’s license in Angel’s wallet. But the being before him now was clearly not human. Everything about the Trickster radiated power. He had walked into the barn, blown past every ward, and stood there now, looking like he was perfectly capable of calling down the literal wrath of God on all three of them at any moment. Maybe he could? Regardless, Dean suddenly felt very small and helpless. Forcing himself to meet the angel’s steady gaze, Dean tried hard to project a confidence he didn’t feel, all the while wondering just how much those eyes actually saw?

Finally, the angel tore his gaze away from Dean, moving back to Ketch for a brief moment before fixing on the trench coat in Ketch’s hand. He frowned. “Nice coat,” he said.

“Yes, it’s yours, isn’t it?” Ketch gave the coat a slight shake, spreading it out a bit in one hand, keeping his other hand raised and clearly in view.

“I certainly didn’t give it to you.” The voice was a low growl. The Trickster’s eyes narrowed in distrust. “Why do you have it?”

“You gave it to a friend of yours,” Ketch said. Dean admired how steady the man’s voice was in the face of certain death. If the Trickster decided to be offended by Ketch’s possession of the coat, could he snap his fingers like Lucifer and simply vaporize the man? If that happened, what would he do to Bobby? To Dean?

The Trickster’s frown grew more severe. “I am perfectly aware of who I gave it to,” he snapped. “I didn’t ask you that. I asked you why you have it?”

“Because he gave it to Mr. Winchester back there,” Ketch explained, “who then gave it to me.”

Dean considered shooting Ketch in the back of the head for drawing the Trickster’s attention to him again. Once more, the angel was staring openly at him. Bobby cleared his throat and moved slightly, blocking Dean from view. Dean was secretly grateful, even as he made an irritated noise and pointed the muzzle of his pistol safely up. “You’re in my line of fire!” he hissed to Bobby.

“Shut up,” Bobby growled quietly.

Dean shut up.

Fortunately, Ketch was talking again. “I know you’re interested in Winchester. And I also know you have a connection to the angel who was sent to collect him. But that angel has been captured by the King of Hell.”

“What?!” Apparently, this was news to the Trickster. “When? How?”

“He fought the demons to save me,” Dean called, earning himself a growl of warning from Bobby.

“Crowley, as I’m sure you know, has a bit of a flare for the dramatic,” Ketch continued, completely ignoring Dean. “He had a photo taken of himself with his captive, alive. I was able to use my contacts to obtain a copy.”

The Trickster made a noise. “I’ll deal with the King of Hell. But right now, my interest is the candidate.” He paused. “Am I to assume you’re intending to keep me from taking him?”

“Damned right we are!” Bobby called.

“Trickster, listen to me,” Ketch began. “I have been searching for you for years...”

“Believe me, I’m aware!”

“...But we don’t have to be enemies!” Ketch insisted. “I know that you oppose the rule of the angels. That’s why you want Winchester, right? Because he’s Michael’s chosen candidate? And now the King of Hell has your friend. We can help each other.”

The Trickster tilted his head in a familiar fashion at Ketch. “I’m listening.”

“Good, that’s good,” Ketch soothed. He draped the trench coat over one arm. Then he waved his free hand back, indicating the table he’d set up in the barn. “Let’s sit down and talk. I believe we can come to an agreement where we all get what we want.”

“Um, what’s that mean?” Dean asked anxiously.

No one was listening to him. The Trickster had nodded and was walking towards the table. Dean held his breath, seeing Ketch’s hand dart quickly towards his pocket.

Everything happened at once.

Ketch triggered the remote for the ignition device he’d hidden in the dirt they’d uncovered beneath the floorboards. Immediately, the holy oil they’d neatly poured in a circle on the ground ignited, forming a circle of flames around the area where the Trickster had just stepped.

But the Trickster wasn’t there. There was a fluttering sound, a rush of air, and a hand clamped like a vise on Dean’s upper arm. In less time than it had taken Dean to blink, the Trickster had moved past all three of them. Now he was standing behind Dean.

Dean didn’t have time to yell before he was jerked back. A hand tightly gripped his arm, just below the shoulder. Dean’s skin almost seemed to burn at the contact. At the same time, another hand ripped the weapon from his grip, sending it flying across the barn. Dean saw Bobby turn too late. Without letting go of Dean, the angel moved again, grabbing the barrel of the rifle and jerking it forward. Bobby was able to fire once before he fell, the rifle pulled from his hands to join Dean’s in sliding across the floor. Bobby rolled off the table.

Ketch had turned, hand going to the pistol he’d had hidden in the back of his pants. There was a stomach-dropping feeling of movement, and Dean found himself standing next to the Englishman. The Trickster’s grip on Dean’s arm still hadn’t loosened. The angel’s other hand was moving again, reaching out to rip Ketch’s weapon free, toss it aside, and then shove Ketch hard in the chest. The Englishman went sailing back to land in a sprawl next to Bobby.

“Did you think I didn’t notice the holy oil on the ground from the moment I walked in here?” the Trickster snarled. “I knew you would try something like this, Ketch! It never had to be this way. I would have talked to you, had you only listened.”

“I’m listening now!” Ketch had managed to get to his knees, raising his hands imploringly. “I had to try, but I’m listening.”

“Too late.” The Trickster’s free hand lowered. Something jumped up into it. Dean blinked, seeing Angel’s trench coat in the Trickster’s hand. “This is mine,” he announced. “I’ll be leaving now.”

Blur. Dean thought he heard Bobby scream, cut off in an instant.

A room. Moonlight beamed peacefully through the panes of a window, providing the only source of light. Dean gasped, pulling free from the Trickster. His hand went up to his arm. There was no pain, but his arm still almost seemed to burn where the angel had touched him. He looked frantically around, seeing almost nothing in the darkness. Even the Trickster himself was mostly hidden in the dark. “Wha...? Where am I?”

“You’re safe.”

“Safe?!” Dean clenched his fists. “You son of a bitch! You don’t own me!”

“I don’t recall saying that I did.”

“You said you’re taking what’s yours,” Dean accused.

“And I did.” The Trickster’s voice was calm. “I meant my coat, not you.”

“Oh.” Dean felt a little silly. “Well, you still took me.”

“I did. As I intended to do from the moment I arrived.”

“So you lied to Ketch?” Dean accused.

“I did no such thing. Had he simply greeted me, I would have spoken to him, answered what questions I could before I took you.”

“But you were still taking me.”

“Yes.” The Trickster moved, stepping past Dean and farther into the room. “I would have done so much sooner, but by the time the opportunity presented itself, you and my friend were hidden from view.” He paused. “The runes on your ribs. No human could have accomplished that, so it must have been him. How did you convince him to do it?”

“It’s kind of a long story.” Dean wrapped his arms across his chest. “Can you maybe turn on a light or something?”

There was a click, and the room was full of light. It looked like a room in an abandoned house. The furniture was covered in dusty white sheets. A lamp next to the Trickster was providing the light.

This was Dean’s first good look at the Trickster. The angel was wearing a suit, similar to what Angel had worn. It made sense. Most people wanted to look good for the angel who had chosen them, so the candidates are usually well-dressed. It had sickened Dean. Angel’s candidate had clearly wanted to look his best. He’d been clean shaven, hair neatly trimmed, wearing a suit that would have set Dean back considerably on his mechanic’s pay. The trench coat had never looked quite right on Angel. It was older, worn, and largely inexpensive. It looked right on the Trickster, who was wearing it now. It matched the suit he wore, an older, inexpensive brand that someone might wear in an office. The angel’s vessel was different than what Dean would have expected. Even if the suit was the most expensive thing the man had owned, the dress shirt beneath the suit coat was wrinkled. The buttons of the shirt were undone at the collar, the tie loose. The tie was inexpensive cotton, and, now that Dean was looking at it better, tied upside-down. Even the man’s hair was a mess.

“I suppose I should introduce myself,” the Trickster said. “After all, I am the one who’s planning to grip you tight and raise you from Perdition.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Dean called, warily. “You’re the Trickster, right?”

“Some call me that, although it's not the name I usually use.” He faced Dean, deep blue eyes once more seeming to look through him. “My name is Castiel. I’m an Angel of the Lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaay, thirteen chapters in, and we FINALLY see the other main character!
> 
> *dives into reader-proof bunker and slams hatch*


	14. The Trickster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean learns his new companion's plans for him

Castiel might have been an angel, but he didn’t act much like Angel, at least not the version Dean had come to know and respect. Angel had been businesslike, but at the same time more casual. He’d taken the time to talk to Dean, try to get Dean’s understanding and cooperation. Castiel needed neither of those things.

“You’ll be staying here,” the Trickster had informed Dean. He’d shoved a hand into Dean’s pocket, oblivious to Dean’s startled yelp of protest, dug out Dean’s cell phone, and crushed it to pieces. “You won’t be needing that.”

“Son of a bitch! Listen, Cass, you might be some big-shot angel, but...”

“I’m sorry, what did you call me?”

“...But we’ve already established you don’t own me,” Dean pressed on, anger overriding his sense of self-preservation. “So I’ll be the one who decides where I stay, not you!”

“Are you done?”

“Huh?”

“Good.” Cass started pacing around as though Dean hadn’t interrupted. “I’ve put salt lines at every window and door, with devil’s traps at the entrances just to be safe. Between those and the anti-possession tattoo you’ve got there, you should be as safe as I can make you from demons without drawing attention to you.”

“Wait just one damned minute!”

“As far as the angels go, the runes on your ribs should do the trick. Heaven’s forces won’t be able to find you. I, and those with me, have special tattoos.” Cass tapped a section of skin. “If I ward this place against angels, it will only draw attention to you.”

“I said wait!”

“Speaking of drawing attention?” Cass frowned at him. “How stupid are you, Dean Winchester? You were out in a town, seen, posted, and prayed about by countless humans. You got involved in a crime, which further exposed my friend...”

“He did that one all by himself!”

“You called the police and reported yourself to be kidnapped, thereby drawing both demons and angels to you...”

“Motherfucker, I didn’t do that!” Dean roared. Desperate to be heard, he moved forward and shoved at Castiel’s chest.

Castiel didn’t budge. Ocean-blue eyes stared impassively at Dean.

Dean suddenly realized the precariousness of his situation. He swallowed hard. “Um, hey, it’s getting kind of late. How about I go find a place to sleep, and we can discuss this in the morning?”

No response from the silent angel.

Dean dared to turn his back on Cass and head off deeper into the house. Feeling along the wall with shaking hands, Dean climbed a set of stairs and, much to his relief, found a bedroom at the top. He flipped a switch, pulled the dust cover off the bed and found a made-up bed under it. Weird. The dust sheets over everything seemed to indicate that the owner had moved, but it seemed like nothing had been taken out of the house. Maybe they’d died?

Great, now he was about to sleep in some dead dude’s bed with a murderous kidnapping angel in the house. No way was he going to get any sleep tonight.

With a resigned sigh, Dean stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers. He switched off the light and turned back towards the bed.

Castiel was directly in front of him. The moonlight illuminated his stern features as Dean froze in place.

“Do you think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around?” Castiel asked. “Do you think I should be at your beck and call while you do whatever you choose to do? There’s a bigger picture here, and you are only one small part of it. You should show me some respect. I took you away before you could be dragged down to Hell. I can just as easily throw you in.”

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he was more terrified. There was a rush of air, and the angel was gone.

Dean staggered over to the bed and sank down onto it. He shuddered. No, he realized, the Trickster was nothing like Angel. Even when Angel was at his worst, Dean had known that he couldn’t really hurt Dean. Angel’s goal had been to deliver Dean to a fate worse than death, but he was to deliver Dean alive and relatively unharmed. Castiel had no such concerns. The Trickster had no reason to hold back, no need to protect Dean, and no obligations. If he chose, he could certainly drop Dean into the Pit, fly away, and never look back. It would cost him nothing.

For the first time, Dean was facing a fate even worse than being the vessel of an archangel.

He couldn’t hold back a slight whimper as he rolled onto the bed and pulled the covers up. As a child, he’d sometimes hide under his covers when he was afraid at night. Dean had the sudden, irrational urge to do so.

As if layers of cloth could somehow protect him from the real monster who’d taken him now.

****

Despite being positive he wouldn’t sleep a wink, the morning sun shining through the window roused Dean. He blinked his eyes open. They immediately focused on the figure seated in a chair right next to his bed.

Dean swore, thrashed about in a tangle of sheets and blankets, and somehow managed to roll out of bed to land with a thud on the opposite side. “Son of a bitch! What are you doing in here?”

“Relax,” Castiel called. “I was only watching you sleep.”

“Dude, that is creepy as fuck! What is up with you angels and your complete and utter disregard of personal privacy?”

“I hadn’t realized you would find it offensive,” the Trickster’s gravelly voice called from the other side of the bed. “I knew we’d gotten off to a bad start yesterday and thought I would try to make it up to you a bit.”

“By freaking me out?”

“By watching over you while you slept.” There was actually a note of apology in the voice now. “I thought it would make you feel safer.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t.”

“I understand. I’ll go then.”

“No, wait!”

Part of Dean was kicking himself. Castiel was about to leave, which was exactly what Dean’s nerves required at the moment. But at the same time, Dean realized, this was his chance to have an actual conversation with his kidnapper. For the first time, the Trickster was treating him somewhat like an equal.

Then Dean stood up, remembered he was still in his underwear, and realized the multiple flaws in his plan. “Um, listen,” he began, “I need to get cleaned up, empty my bladder, and get dressed. Is there anything in this house to eat?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, apparently unfazed by Dean’s lack of dress. “I had no idea how long I would have to keep you here, so I stocked the refrigerator with plenty of food.”

“Ok, good. Why don’t you go downstairs and wait for me? I’ll finish up and come down, and we can talk while I get breakfast.”

That earned him a head tilt. “You just asked me to stay?”

“Yes,” Dean said slowly, “and now I want you to leave so I can get dressed.”

The Trickster narrowed his eyes at Dean. He leveled a finger. “Do not run off,” he warned. “I know you want to, but I will be extremely vexed with you if you try to run.”

Dean scoffed. “Dude, I’m on the second floor,” he reminded, indicating the room. “If I try jumping out a window, I’ll probably break my neck. I promise, I’m just going to get ready for the day and I’ll be right down.”

Castiel looked unconvinced. But he nodded and vanished in a burst of wind. Dean sighed. Things were so much easier when the angel he was with couldn’t just flutter in and out anytime he wanted.

Dean did his morning necessities in record time. True to his word, he immediately headed downstairs. He wasn’t surprised to find Castiel standing impatiently at the foot of the stairs, waiting for him to come down. Dean raised his hands. “Not running away.”

Castiel nodded and headed towards what Dean presumed was the kitchen. Dean followed. The kitchen was just as dusty as the rest of the house. Dean made a face. He found a roll of paper towels, dampened some, and cleaned off the worst of the dust on the counters and tables. Then he pulled out a chair. “Sit down. You wanted to talk, so let’s talk.”

The Trickster sat down. “I have to say I’m surprised. I honestly expected you to try to run away.”

“Yeah, well, not like I would have gotten far, would I?” Dean grumbled. He opened the fridge and blinked in shock at the jumble of items crammed into every available space. “Um, did you do this?”

“I did.” The Trickster sounded pleased with himself. “If there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”

“Right. Um, thanks.” Well, Dean, figured, it made a certain amount of sense. Angels didn’t eat, therefore they had no need to store food. A mess like this should probably be expected. Dean pried a box of cereal that had been crammed between a smashed loaf of bread and a runny container of ice cream free and eyed it. Except for the bottom portion that had been dampened by the melted ice cream, the cereal seemed salvageable. Dean began to drag more items out, putting away what he thought he might be able to use and dropping ruined items into one of the trash bags he’d found next to the paper towels.

The Trickster didn’t seem to mind. “Your friend, Arthur Ketch, has been chasing me for some time,” he began.

“Not my friend,” Dean called over his shoulder. He glanced in the freezer and winced. He’d deal with that mess later. Too bad Castiel had chosen to put the milk there instead of the ice cream.

“Good to know. At any rate, he’s been determined to find me, to the point he’s interfered with several well-planned operations.”

“Operations?” Dean carefully rinsed melted ice cream off a head of lettuce. Once he pulled the spaghetti, table salt, vinegar and cooking oil out of the crisper, he could return it to the fridge.

“I’m captain of a garrison here on Earth, one that doesn’t answer to Heaven,” Castiel was explaining, not at all concerned with Dean’s current dilemma. “If you were given this coat, then is it safe to assume you also heard a bit of my story?”

“Some of it.” Dean opened a container of eggs, winced, and removed the three unbroken eggs to place in the fridge door, dumping the rest of the container into the trash. “You followed Anna Milton and fell because you wanted free will.”

“I did, but I’m afraid there’s a bit more to the story. You see, when our Father left us, the archangels were left in charge. Lucifer originally came up with the idea of free will, yes. But he was only interested in doing what he wished to do, regardless of the desires of Heaven. He wanted only to follow his own desires. And unfortunately, his desires were to rule. He chose a vessel for himself, came to Earth, and started his own kingdom...”

“...In Detroit. I know this part.” Dean pulled a bag of potatoes out of the fridge and put them on the counter. “The candidate he chose was my brother Sam.”

That earned him a moment of surprised silence from Castiel. “I’m sorry. I was not aware of that. But a lot of things make more sense now.” The angel waved a hand. “I’ll get to that later. My point is, Lucifer didn’t do this out of any real desire for free will, but a desire to rule. He didn’t agree with his fellow archangels and their idea of letting humanity largely run itself, with Heaven acting only as overseers and guardians. He wanted to rule directly. And that is why Michael chose a vessel of his own, so that he could come down and deal with him.”

“Yeah, I know a lot about that part, too.”

“I imagine you would. Candidate Winchester...”

“Dean.”

“Dean,” Castiel corrected. “You must realize that, since you have been marked as Michael’s chosen candidate, you are, until your dying day, the only vessel Michael can take?”

“And only Angel could give me to him, yeah,” Dean agreed.

Dean glanced over at Castiel to see the angel was frowning at him. “Why do you call him ‘Angel?’”

Dean sighed and explained the situation he’d unknowingly put his friend into. As he spoke, he cautiously kept an eye on Castiel, waiting for him to snap. But the Trickster never stirred. He sat as he was, listening with a slight frown and his head cocked. He didn’t move or say a word once Dean finished. All he did was continue to watch Dean. Finally, Dean cleared his throat. “Cass, not for nothing, but the last time someone looked at me like that? I got laid.”

Dean flinched as soon as he said it. But Castiel wasn’t cross. Apparently, the angel was deep in thought. “So that’s what happened to him. Now no angel short of an archangel can say his name until you do it first. All because you didn’t want to be a candidate. I had not expected that. You’re a strange human, Dean Winchester,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, I get that a lot, and not just from angels.”

“Hmm?” Those eyes were still fixed on Dean. “I knew you were powerful. You had to be, in order for Michael to be able to use you. I’m not surprised that you can instinctively shield your thoughts. But I did not expect what I found when I touched you.”

“Huh?” It was Dean’s turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“Your soul.” Castiel waved in Dean’s direction. “When I touched you, your soul, it reacted to me. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it before. I’m afraid it affected your physical being.”

“Affected my...?” Dean quickly pulled up his sleeve. There, high on his arm, was the print of the angel’s hand. It almost appeared to be burned on. He remembered the sensation, the slight burning feeling he’d experienced moment the Trickster had touched him. “You know, now you mention it, I did kind of notice something. What’s it mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel mumbled. “It’s a mystery. At first, I’ll admit it disturbed me. I’ve never felt myself so drawn to a human before.”

“Wait, drawn? What’s that mean?”

“At first, I assumed it was more of your mischief,” the angel continued as though Dean hadn’t spoken. “It was obvious you’d done something to my brother, so you clearly had access to lore you should not have. I assumed I’d barely avoided being injured by some sort of protective spell. It made me angry.”

“So that’s why you were such a dick to me? Because I gotta tell you, it was a shitty thing to do, saying what you said to me last night!”

That got a reaction - a raised eyebrow. Dean suddenly remembered himself. He looked away, focusing intently on arranging the groceries.

“I spent the bulk of last night checking for spells, wards, anything you might have done to have triggered this reaction,” Castiel went on. “But I found nothing. It wasn’t until I went to you and watched over you as you slept that I realized what it was. ‘Creepy’ as you found that, it did serve a purpose.”

Apparently, all angels made air quotes with their fingers, or at least Cass and Angel did. Even in his situation, Dean couldn’t help the small smile that came to his lips. He covered it by rubbing at his nose with his sleeve. “So what did you find? What is it about me that got this mark on my arm when you touched me?”

“Your soul.”

Dean looked up. “What’s wrong with my soul?”

“Nothing is wrong with it,” Castiel corrected. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Before our Father left us, he’d scolded us rather soundly. Despite what the archangels said later, and what their gold level enforcers tried to literally drill into our heads...”

“You said what now?”

“...He left because we’d disappointed Him. He never intended for us to rule over humanity. We were always intended to live with them, side by side. In fact, there were some humans who were meant for more. Their power came from the fact that their souls were created to be directly compatible with the Grace of particular angels. When that human soul and the angel’s Grace came in contact, it created a profound bond.”

“You’re talking soulmates?” Dean asked. “So, what, you and I were created to be star-crossed lovers?”

Castiel squinted at him. “I don’t understand that reference.”

Dean waved a block of cheese. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter anyway, right? Not with God gone?”

“No, I suppose not,” the angel agreed.

“Good. Go back to the part about drilling into your heads. What’s that all about?”

Castiel straightened, looking serious. “Humanity has been told that all of the angels in Heaven follow a particular order. We’re given ranks, from standard through platinum. Distinct lines of command. Everyone follows orders, and everyone is happy. But that’s not how it really is.”

“Obviously not.” Dean indicated him. “You’re a bit out of order, Cass, and so was this Anna chick.”

“Anna was exceptional,” the Trickster corrected. “I and my brother are, as you put it, ‘out of order’ for another reason. Suffice to say, there has been discord in Heaven for some time now. Shortly after our Father left, a certain percentage of us came very close to revolt. To counter it, Michael, Lucifer, and Raphael dispatched certain generals, gold-level angels, as enforcers. They would drill into our heads, access our thoughts and memories, and manipulate them.”

Dean froze, staring wide-eyed at the angel. “Cass, you’re talking about mind control?”

“Yes.”

“Dude, that’s crazy! Why aren’t more of you rebelling?”

“Because it is very, very effective.” The Trickster looked away. “It took me far too long to overcome my own, and even longer to realize it had even been done. I have one of my brothers to thank for that. His reward was to be strapped back into the enforcers’ chair and have his mind altered once more. By the time they finished with him, he not only believed that he was in full agreement with the archangels’ plans, he believed that he’d actually been instrumental in turning me in.”

“Angel,” Dean groaned.

Cass nodded. “I left him my coat, hoping that it could help trigger his true memories. When it didn’t work, I expected him to destroy it. The fact that he didn’t gives me some hope.”

“Dude, it was working,” Dean encouraged. “He was starting to come around when we got attacked by the demons. If it worked for him, then maybe, if we work together, we can convince other angels?”

“Convincing other angels is precisely my plan. Working together, however?” The Trickster shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Dean declared. “If I can...”

“It’s not too dangerous for you,” Castiel corrected. “There are others of far more importance to my plan that I cannot let you interfere with. That is why I will be keeping you here, where only I can find you. You need to be kept safely out of the way until our plans are all in place. Then, assuming you can prove yourself worthy of trust?” The blue eyes darkened with doubt. “Then perhaps we can consider what we can do with you.”

Of course. Despite how oddly nice he was being now, this was the same angel who’d threatened last night to throw Dean into Hell. “Some soulmate,” he mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Frustrated and upset, Dean went about the business of making himself some breakfast.


	15. Lines In the Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions between Dean and Castiel come to a head

Castiel waited until Dean had finished eating and was washing up. The candidate had been quiet and sullen as he’d cooked and eaten breakfast. He still was now as he cleaned up. When Castiel had mentioned stepping out, Dean had only grunted something about not letting the door hit him in the ass.

He hadn’t mentioned why that might be a possibility, but Castiel had taken care with the door anyway.

Once outside, he pulled out the “cellular phone” device he’d obtained. The thing still confused him. He’d gotten basic instruction, set it up alright, he thought. He still wasn’t sure why the voice had instructed him to say his name. Didn’t matter. The thing did what it was supposed to do. It allowed the various members of their group to communicate all over the world with little fear of their communications being intercepted.

Castiel quickly dialed and held the device to his ear. As soon as he heard a voice, he said, “I have him.”

“Well done! And you’ve taken him to the house?”

“Yes.” Castiel glanced back. “He’s very unhappy.”

“Sounds about right. These candidates are so excited to be vessels that...”

“Actually, he doesn’t want to be a vessel.”

“Come again, please?”

“It surprised me, as well,” Castiel admitted. “This is the first time since the propaganda campaign that I’ve ever encountered a chosen candidate who didn’t want to be a vessel. And this one is platinum level!”

“Now that’s interesting.” Castiel could almost hear the gears turning on the other end of the line. “Has he mentioned his brother?”

“Only in passing.” Castiel hesitated. “You knew? Who his brother was?”

“I did, but I expected him to be anxious to join him as a vessel.” There was a definite note of surprise, perhaps even admiration, in the voice now.

Castiel made a small noise. “I get the impression that there’s more to that story.”

“See what you can find out. Anything you might learn can only help us.”

“I’ll do what I can, but I’m not confident he’ll talk to me.” Castiel glanced again at the house. He could still hear the sounds of Dean washing dishes in the kitchen. Stepping away from the house a bit, Castiel lowered his voice. “He’s very upset. And it’s clear he has no desire to be Michael’s vessel.”

“Good on both counts. This is going to be a lot easier if he’s not trying to run straight into Michael’s arms.”

“Listen, there’s something else,” Castiel pressed. “Dean Winchester’s soul? It’s reacting to my Grace.”

The line went silent for a moment. “Well, this is certainly unexpected.”

“Nothing has changed,” Castiel insisted. “What of the others? Who can we count on?”

“Not many, I’m afraid. Uriel, Samandriel, possibly Balthazar. But every one of them is compromised now. I’m not sure how, or if, we’ll be able to get them out. Uriel especially has drawn entirely too much attention from Michael himself. I will admit, I’m concerned.”

“I see.” Castiel rubbed a hand over his face. “What about losses?”

“Hael for certain, and Bartholomew.”

That was a blow. “We suspected Naomi had gotten to Hael, but...? Are you certain?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, Castiel. I know they were your friends.”

Castiel leaned against the post of the front porch, closed his eyes, and allowed himself a moment of silence. “We need to move forward with the plan.”

“I’m glad you agree. Castiel, are you still certain you can do what you said you could?”

Castiel frowned. “Why would you ask that?”

“If you were meant to bond with Dean Winchester, are you sure that you can do what has to be done? If Michael presses us, Winchester must be eliminated.”

He didn’t care for the tone of doubt he was hearing. “I know my duty,” he insisted. “Dean means nothing compared to the plan.”

“Are you sure, Castiel? If you need us to send another...”

“I can handle my duty!” Castiel’s fist was clenched. “And I can handle Dean Winchester.”

“Alright, as long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Thank you for your concern. I’ll be in touch.”

Ending the call, Castiel turned to go back into the house.

Dean Winchester was standing in the doorway. Solemn green eyes regarded him in silence.

“Oh, um, hello, Dean,” Castiel stammered. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough that, if I’d had any question about where I stand with you, it’s pretty much gone now.”

Castiel felt an odd twinge. He quickly brushed it aside. “Dean, I have been nothing but honest with you,” he said. “I’m not here to be your friend.”

“No, it sounds to me like you’re pretty much here to be my jailer, Cass.”

Those green eyes were still watching him. Castiel found himself shifting under their scrutiny. “It’s true that my job is to keep you here, yes. But the reason...”

Dean turned and went back into the house, slamming the door behind himself. Well. At least he wasn’t staring at Castiel like that anymore. That was something of a relief.

No. He couldn’t let one human get under his skin like this. He was in charge here. What was happening now was happening for a reason. It was time Dean understood that. Obviously, a talk was in order.

He found Dean in the living room. The candidate was standing at the big picture window, looking out. The green eyes were fixed on the sky, but glanced briefly his way when Castiel entered the room. “Hello, Dean.”

“Leave me alone, Cass.” Dean’s voice was steady, but his knuckles whitened where he held onto the windowsill.

“Dean,” Castiel began, “you and I are going to be spending a great deal of time together. We should set some ground rules.”

No answer. Dean was still and silent, staring out the window as though Castiel hadn’t said anything. Castiel frowned, moving to stand next to Dean. “First, you are not permitted to escape. I will block any attempt you might make. And if you do manage to get away from me, I will come after you, drag you back, and restrict you from making another attempt. It would be best all around if you did not try.”

No answer. Castiel’s frown deepened. Surely Dean could hear him? Nothing about his behavior so far had indicated a hearing problem, but humans were fragile creatures. “Right now, you have a certain amount of freedom,” he said a little louder. “You may wander freely around the house and grounds. The border of the property is marked by trees, hedges, and decorative bushes. But don’t go up the driveway past the big oak. I don’t want you near the road. Too much of a chance someone might see you.”

Dean still didn’t answer.

“While you’re here, I’ll keep you comfortable, of course.” Castiel was becoming increasingly confused the longer his charge failed to respond. “Any item you wish, I’ll do my best to provide. You seemed to enjoy cooking? I can get you any food item. I can provide multiple forms of entertainment, although I’m afraid I have to restrict your access to the internet or telephone. You can’t contact anyone on the outside. It’s simply too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous to who?” Dean asked sharply. “I’m pretty damned sure you’re not this worried about me.”

The candidate hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction, but at least he was listening. Castiel straightened, relieved. “Mostly, I am worried for you, as a matter of fact. But at the same time, my concern is not entirely unselfish.”

“Oh, imagine that,” Dean mumbled.

Castiel waited, but Dean didn’t elaborate. Castiel cleared his throat. “I’m part of a group of angels who believe that what the archangels are doing is wrong. We’ve been working in secret, an underground network of angels and their allies, to undermine the system. Now, I now you probably want to escape, go back to your...” He grimaced. “I know you said Ketch isn’t your friend. But I’m sure you do have friends you’d like to get back to.”

Dean looked down. “Yeah. I do. And one of them is your friend.”

“I know.” Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “We’ll do what we can for him.”

“What about me?” Dean asked. “Are you planning on letting me go?”

“I hope so,” Castiel said. “I sincerely hope so, Dean. It was never my intention to hold you on a permanent basis.”

“Good to know. I gotta warn you, Cass, much as you might have always wanted a pet, I’m totally not housebroken and I don’t keep off the furniture.”

Castiel stared at him, completely confused.

Dean rolled his eyes. “You were saying something about your secret underground angel boy’s club, and how I was somehow a threat to it?”

“Yes,” Castiel nodded. “As you’re aware, there has been some level of, shall we say, discontent, with how the archangels are managing things for some time. But the real tipping point came when Lucifer chose a candidate and came to Earth.”

“Yeah, that was kind of a tipping point for me, too, Cass.”

“You do seem unusually perturbed about that particular issue,” Castiel said, speaking carefully. “Is there a reason?”

“My brother Sammy is Lucifer’s vessel.” Dean’s voice was quiet, the green eyes full of pain. “When we realized he was gone, and Lucifer had complete control, my dad and our closest family friend got a group of their old military buddies together and confronted Lucifer.”

“Ah,” Castiel realized. “They were part of the group that invaded Detroit?”

“They led it,” Dean admitted. “Bobby barely got out alive. Lucifer killed our dad. And he did it in Sammy’s body.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s how I know my brother’s not completely gone. Because while he couldn’t save our dad, losing him woke Sam up enough that he took control.”

Castiel abruptly straightened, his breath catching. “Your human brother was able to wrestle control of the vessel from Lucifer?”

Dean glared at him. “It’s not ‘the vessel,’ Cass, it’s my brother’s body!”

“Dean, this is very important,” Castiel stressed. “Do you have any proof that your brother was able to do what you claim?”

“Yeah, I do,” Dean insisted. “Bobby’s still alive, despite pumping both barrels of his shotgun, six shots from a pistol, and a shot of lead from a high-powered rifle into Lucifer. All Lucifer had to do to kill our father was snap his fingers. So, there’s my proof. If Sammy wasn’t in charge at that moment? Then Lucifer would have killed Bobby just like that!”

Castiel flinched in spite of himself when Dean snapped his fingers. He shook his head. “I never imagined such a thing was possible. But considering your power...?”

“Wait, considering my what?”

“You’re special, Dean,” Castiel admitted. “You and your brother both are.”

“Yeah, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, Dean, that it’s more important than ever that you listen to me,” Castiel insisted. “I know you think I’m your enemy now, but I am the best chance you have.”

“Cass, I’m trying to play nice here,” Dean began. “I really am. But you keep giving me these little half-truths and tidbits of information, then go and shut me down when I start asking questions. You’re seriously limiting my options here, man! I mean, come on, what the hell do you want from me?”

“I already told you,” Castiel said patiently. “You are to remain here, and not try to escape.”

Dean spread his hands. “Yeah, and?”

“And? And what?”

“Precisely, and what?” Dean exclaimed. “You honestly expect me to just hang out here and twiddle my thumbs while there’s obviously something big going on?”

“Um, what do you mean?” Castiel asked anxiously. “Nothing’s going on.”

Dean stared at him flatly. “Really. Nothing’s going on. So why are we even having this conversation?”

“No reason.” Castiel forced a smile. “I’m not even saying anything, really. This conversation is pointless.”

Dean threw up his hands. Shaking his head, he stormed past Castiel. Castiel turned, starting after him. “Where are you going?”

“Out!” Dean yelled. “You said I can go outside, I’m going outside.”

“Dean...”

“Kiss my ass!” Dean shoved his way out the door and out to the front porch.

Castiel followed. Dean was stomping his way down the walk, heading straight for the driveway. “Dean, stop!” he yelled. “I told you not to go down the driveway. Dean!”

Dean wasn’t stopping. He’d started running, racing down the driveway towards the road.

Castiel flew forward, landing directly in front of Dean. “Dean, enough!” he ordered as the candidate bounced off of his chest. “Dean!” To his irritation, the candidate had swerved and was now running across the yard, heading towards the hedge at the edge of the yard.

Annoyed, Castiel flew after him again. Catching the candidate by the wrist, Castiel jerked him to a stop. “Enough,” he ordered. “Why are you running? You must know you can’t get away from me.”

The candidate kicked at him. “Let go of me!”

“Stop fighting.” Castiel dragged the struggling, cursing candidate back towards the porch. “I’m sorry we’re having communication problems...”

“Is that what you call this?” Dean was prying uselessly at the angel’s fingers. “You’re fucking dragging me back into my cage! This isn’t a communication problem, Trickster, it’s you being no better than fucking Lucifer!”

That made Castiel stop in his tracks. Even Dean stilled, realizing, perhaps, that he’d gone too far as Castiel turned to look at him. “I am nothing like Lucifer,” he growled. “Lucifer only wants to enslave humanity, turn the Earth into his own personal playground. That, Dean, is why he wanted your brother. You know what he’s doing in Detroit now. Total control. Anyone who dares stand against him he destroys. You know that better than anyone!”

“Yeah, and it’s one of about a million reasons I don’t want to be a vessel!” He kicked Castiel again. “Let the fuck go of me, Cass!”

“Dammit, Dean, would you think?!” Castiel dragged Dean closer, took his shoulders, and gave him a shake. “Why would the archangels of Heaven have one set of rules for a single city, and another for the rest of the world? Don’t you understand? Lucifer is rebelling again!”

That finally got through to Dean. “Go on?”

It was the last thing he should do, Castiel knew. But he’d already said too much. Maybe, if Dean understood, he would become more cooperative? At any rate, he had little to lose now. “The archangels kept everything tightly under wraps,” Castiel explained. “But Lucifer was never approved to take a vessel and go to Earth. He never even asked. He simply arranged everything himself. Cupids were ordered to arrange certain bloodlines. Angels were dispatched to ensure conception took place. He did everything he had to do, all to make sure one special individual was born.”

“Wait,” Dean called, raising a hand for patience. “You’re saying... Our family? Our parents? Lucifer did all this shit, just to make sure...?”

“...That your brother was born. Yes.” Castiel reached up one hand, placed it on the human’s cheek. “Your brother was born to be special, but so are you, Dean. You...”

“Wait, hold it!” Dean pulled away, shaking his head. “If Lucifer is rebelling, then why the hell did you winged dicks let it happen?”

“We didn’t know!” Castiel insisted. “Lucifer sent his orders outside of official channels. Even the collector who took your brother had no idea it wasn’t sanctioned.”

“That’s why she didn’t get promoted,” Dean realized. “Because the rest of the winged dicks didn’t want her doing it. But Michael wants me so he can come down to put a stop to it, right? So why are you keeping me away from him?”

“Because Lucifer will never go back without a fight, and you have no idea what a fight like that would be like.” Castiel looked hard at the candidate. “You’ve seen Lucifer’s power. Michael is just as powerful. If the two of them are allowed to fight, it could quite literally rip the land apart. Millions of humans will die. We can’t let it happen, Dean. We need to find another way.”

“So what’s the other way?”

Castiel grimaced. “We’re working on that.”

The candidate stared flatly at him. “Great plan, Cass.”

“I am open to suggestions.”

“Here’s a suggestion - get that bastard out of Sammy! My brother is still in there. He can help!” Dean was becoming excited now. “Let me talk to my brother. I can convince Sammy take control. Then do whatever you have to do to get Lucifer out of him. After he’s out of his vessel, dragging his feathered ass back to Heaven shouldn’t be a problem. All you need to do is tell me how to get an angel out of a human body.”

Castiel was frowning. “No, Dean.”

“No? What do you mean, no?!”

“I mean my job is to keep you here, and safe,” Castiel reminded. “Bringing you to Detroit to face Lucifer? That’s completely out of the question!”

Dean’s green eyes had been shining with hope. But now they dulled. He nodded, taking a few steps back. “Ok, Cass. If that’s how it is, then I guess there’s no choice.”

That was a relief. Castiel was about to praise the candidate for his sensible choice when he became aware of an odd buzzing sound. At first, he’d dismissed it as an insect. But suddenly, fire was falling from the sky.


	16. The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in control, the angel hunters try to learn what they can. Dean wonders if he made the right choice.

“You did the right thing, Dean,” Bobby said quietly. “The only thing you could have done.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Dean grumbled. It didn’t. His mind kept replaying over and over his time with Cass. The angel had struck a chord in him somehow, one he still didn’t understand. Every time he pictured those stupid ocean blue eyes, his stomach twisted with guilt.

Cole glanced over at him. “Don’t you want to save your brother?”

“Yeah, of course!” Dean protested. “More than anything, but...” He winced, hearing another scream echo down the hall.

Ellen emerged from the kitchen, bringing a steaming mug that she placed on the table in front of Dean. “Coffee,” she explained. “Looks like you need it.”

Dean sipped at the hot beverage. It did little to help, but after Ellen had gone through the trouble of making it, it seemed disrespectful to not drink it.

Ketch’s group owned a large underground bunker that appeared to have been built sometime around the 1950’s. It was spacious enough that it didn’t feel cramped, and heated so it didn’t feel damp, but the bunker clearly had been built for function rather than comfort. Banks of computers and a large map table occupied one area. Polished tables with matching wooden chairs and old lamps filled the room where Dean sat. A hallway led to the living and kitchen areas. Through one doorway, Dean could see what appeared to be a massive library and thought, with a pang in his heart, that Sammy would have loved it. He had no idea just how much underground space the bunker occupied, but it appeared to be quite a bit. Obviously, there were places he had yet to see. One such place was through the library. Apparently, there was some sort of dungeon back there. At any rate, the screams were coming from that direction. Whatever Ketch and Walker had been doing with Castiel, the Trickster wasn’t happy about it.

Hearing heavy footsteps, Dean looked towards the library and saw Ketch and Gordon coming towards him. Both were wearing dark clothing, but there were still smears of blood present on bits of their exposed skin that made Dean feel somewhat ill. At least Cass was quiet now that he’d been left alone. A sudden urge to go and check on the angel nearly brought Dean to his feet. He suppressed it just in time, his hands tightly gripping the mug so tightly he feared he’d break it.

Both men stomped their way over to the table where Dean was seated and plopped into seats. Their expressions were a weird mix of anger, frustration, and disgust.

Cole frowned at them. “What is it?”

Gordon glared in Dean’s direction. “The fucking Trickster wants to see him.”

Dean could only blink in surprise, but Bobby had no problem responding. “No way! No way in hell Dean goes anywhere near that bastard. You tell that damned angel to shove it up his ass.”

“Oh, we did,” Gordon explained, still glaring at Dean as though he were at fault. “Repeatedly, using our fists, blunt objects, and the bastard’s angel blade. Didn’t make a difference.”

“What else?” Ellen had pulled up her own chair to join the group at the table. “Did he say anything about the candidates, or the vessels?”

“Bastard wouldn’t answer a single question,” Ketch admitted. “He won’t say a single sodding word unless it’s related to Dean Winchester.”

“Guy’s obsessed!” Gordon complained. “Didn’t matter what we asked him, all he wanted to talk about was Dean, Dean, Dean. ‘Where’s Dean? What have you done with Dean? Have you hurt Dean? I want to see Dean,’ on and on, over and over until I was ready to kill the fucker! We finally decided to let him stew a bit while we considered our options.”

“His resistance to our technique is considerable, but I anticipated that,” Ketch added. “I will admit, I hadn’t anticipated his fixation on a single candidate. I don’t understand it.”

_Soulmates._ Dean shivered.

“I don’t give a shit,” Bobby growled. “Dean’s done his part and then some. How I managed to let myself get talked into letting you put my boy in danger like that, actually letting the Trickster kidnap him, is beyond me! We’re damned lucky Dean’s ok and isn’t host to an archangel right now.”

“The chance of that happening was slim to none,” Ellen reminded. “The Trickster isn’t exactly known for being a fan of the archangels.”

“Slim to none is still a chance,” Bobby pointed out. “Besides, there was a hell of a lot more that could have gone wrong.” He began to count off on his fingers. “We had that tracker hidden in the sole of Dean’s shoe, but the shoes didn’t even fit him right. The tracker could have malfunctioned, or the Trickster might have had some way to block it. Even with it working perfectly, there was a chance that the Trickster might have taken Dean someplace we couldn’t easily follow, like the bottom of the ocean or the moon or even just into some deep jungle on the other side of the world!”

“Instead, he took him just to the next state,” Cole marveled. “Hiding in plain sight, all this time, with no security to speak of! If the tracker hadn’t led us there, we never would have thought to look. Until you saw the wardings, it looked just like an ordinary house.”

“That’s the other thing,” Bobby insisted. “We were all expecting to have to fight our way to Dean. He could have taken my boy to some top secret, maximum security compound, buried underground like this bunker with dozens, hell, hundreds, of angel guards. He could have locked Dean away, chained him up in some deep dungeon so we couldn’t get to him. Even if he’d seen that damned drone, it all could have gone to shit so fast!”

“But it didn’t.” Ellen reached out to squeeze Bobby’s arm. “Dean played his part perfectly.”

“I was watching for the drones,” Dean explained. “As soon as I saw one, I went out, knowing Cass would follow me. Then I just had to make sure he was paying attention to me and only me. He was shocked when the burning holy oil started raining down around him!”

He had been. The angel’s stunned expression when the specially-modified drone began to shower burning holy oil in a circle around him had made Dean want to shout in triumph. Of course, then had come Ketch and the rest of the angel hunters, threatening to burn Cass if he didn’t cooperate. Cass had only hesitated long enough to look hard at Dean before obediently locking the Enochian cuffs onto himself. Then he was staring silently at Dean while the flames were extinguished and the angel was roughly grabbed. Those blue eyes were still staring at him when the bag went over Cass’s head.

Driving back to the bunker with Bobby, Dean hadn’t known what had happened to Cass in Ketch’s van. He’d only seen a glimpse of the angel, stumbling as he was dragged into the bunker with the bag still over his head. It was the last he’d seen of Cass. To hear now that the angel was asking about him, trying to make sure that Dean was alright despite whatever Ketch and Gordon had been doing to make him scream? Dean’s stomach churned, the coffee he’d consumed threatening to come back up.

“Breaking this fucker is going to be a job and a half,” Gordon was complaining. “I think the best thing to do is take shifts.”

“I agree,” Cole said. “Teams of two, at least. We go in, work him over, then go out. If we keep the time between groups random, he won’t know when to expect us. Space it out, sometimes over an hour, sometimes over half a day. Let him think things over and dread the next group that comes in.”

“What if we tried waterboarding?” Ellen suggested. “Keeping him awake or starving him won’t work because he doesn’t sleep or eat, but they breathe, right?”

“I don’t know about that,” Ketch warned. “They do breathe, but there’s no indication it’s required. Choking him didn’t seem to do anything. What if we try...?”

“What if I talked to him?”

It took a moment of complete silence and everyone staring at him before Dean realized he’d spoken. The look on Bobby’s face made him cringe inwardly, but Dean took a breath and continued. “You said the only thing he’s done so far is ask about me, right? He wants to know that I’m ok. So, what if I went in there, let him know that I’m ok?”

“How about we just tell him you’re fine instead?” Bobby countered.

Dean scoffed. “After the way we’ve treated him so far, you think he’d be willing to just take our word for it?”

Bobby scoffed. “Do I look as though I give a shit?”

“Well, you should!” Dean exclaimed. “Every day that goes by is another day that angels or demons could be closing in on us. And Sammy’s already waited a year as Lucifer’s vessel. Cass told me that Lucifer is actually going against Heaven, that they hadn’t wanted him to come to Earth in the first place. Cass said he only took me to prevent a war.”

“You told us this,” Ketch pointed out. “We told him if he helped us, we’d work to prevent that, but he just kept asking about you.”

“Because he wasn’t getting an answer!” Dean shook his head. “Listen, Bobby can come with me. There’s no reason I should go in there alone. But has it occurred to anyone here that maybe we don’t have to torture Cass to get him to help us? I pushed a lot of his buttons after he took me, but he never actually hurt me. I think, if we just give him a chance and let him know Michael still doesn’t have me? He might be a lot more willing to work with us. At any rate, what have we got to lose?”

Dean waited for his answer, heart pounding. He was about to argue some more when Cole nodded. “He’s got a point,” Cole said.

Bobby grunted. “I still don’t like it.”

“I don’t either,” Ketch agreed, “but there seems little harm in letting him try. Alright, Winchester. Go talk to him. But mind me, don’t touch him or answer any questions about us or where he is.”

“I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Bobby promised. “C’mon, Dean. If you’re determined to try this harebrained scheme of yours, we may as well get it over with.”

“I’m coming with you,” Ketch declared. “Whatever the Trickster has to say, I want to hear it.”

****

Beyond the library was an actual dungeon, complete with enclosed cells closed by heavy metal doors with small barred windows. Castiel was in the third cell. The angel’s hands were still caught by the Enochian cuffs, but the cuffs themselves were attached to a large metal hook on a chain. The hook held Cass’s hands high above his head. His trench coat, suit jacket, and tie were all in a crumpled pile in one corner. The fussy-looking dress shirt was open in front, the material stained with blood. More blood decorated Cass’s face and body, along with massive bruising, contusions, abrasions, and lacerations. Looking at the damage, it was little wonder Cass had been screaming. The blue eyes were half-lidded from swelling. Still, they locked on Dean the moment he entered the cell. “Hello, Dean,” the angel rasped.

“Um, hey, Cass,” Dean began. “I, uh, heard you were asking about me.”

“Yes.” Cass’s eyes shifted to Bobby briefly before returning to Dean. Ketch, Dean knew, hovered just outside the door to eavesdrop, but if Cass knew he was there, he gave no sign. “Have they hurt you?” he asked Dean.

“What?”

“Have they hurt you?” Cass repeated. “I saw that man grab you, but with my powers restrained by the holy oil, I couldn’t help. All I could do was allow myself to be taken with you.”

That made Dean pause. “Wait. You let yourself be taken with me?”

“There was little more I could do.” The angel shifted his stance, his eyes locked on Dean. “I couldn’t prevent them from taking you. All I could do was hope we would be kept together, that I would have a chance at a later time to find you again.” The battered mouth stretched into a painful smile. “You appear to be uninjured. Good.”

“Cass, wait,” Dean called. “You realize I was part of all this, right? No one hurt me! Bobby wasn’t grabbing me, well, not to hurt me, anyway. He’s practically my father! He grabbed me to try to protect me from you!”

The smile was replaced by a frown. “Yes, that was an option, but one I’d rejected. You were in no danger with me. I was protecting you.”

“Um, you threatened to throw me into Hell?”

The blue eyes rolled. “You have obviously never played poker. I was bluffing, Dean. I was trying to frighten you so you’d listen to me, at least until I got you to understand.”

“You could have fooled me!”

“I’m sorry. It was the wrong approach, but I was caught off-guard. I hadn’t expected for you to be...” Once more, the eyes went to Bobby. “You said he was like your father. Is it safe to speak?”

“I ain’t going anywhere,” Bobby called, “so if you got something to say, Trickster, I suggest you say it.”

“Bobby’s fine,” Dean assured. “He won’t hurt me, I promise.” Ketch, of course, he couldn’t be sure about, but he couldn’t do much about that now.

Cass considered this for a moment before nodding. “I know you were part of my capture. That doesn’t matter. What I told you about the two of us is true, Dean. While I believe in the free will I fell for, and destiny means little with my Father gone, I can’t deny what I felt when I touched you.”

Next to him, Dean heard Bobby draw in his breath, but he barely noticed. “I... I know what you mean.” His hand moved up to touch the mark on his arm. “You seriously wouldn’t have thrown me into Hell, even if it was the only way to keep Michael from taking me?”

“When I first learned about you, the plan was to do exactly that as a last resort,” Cass admitted. “But even when I threatened you with it, I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let the demons have you. I couldn’t even let these humans take you away from me, Dean. I let them take me without a fight so that I could stay near you.”

Something twisted inside of Dean’s chest. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as his heart pounded. “Dude, you can’t say shit like that!” Dean exclaimed. “And you shouldn’t have done it. Don’t you get it, Cass? I lured you out there, distracted you so they could capture you. This was all part of a plan! I let you take me because I was the bait for this trap!”

“I know that.”

“So you know what a damned idiot you are for falling into it?”

“I know that I don’t regret it.”

Dean sputtered. “Why? Tell me why!”

Cass shook his arms, making the chains holding him rattle. “These cuffs are warded with Enochian runes. I can’t sense anything beyond the physical senses of my vessel with them on, but I can see more Enochian runes carved into the walls.”

Dean looked around. “Yeah, they wouldn’t take chances with you getting loose.”

“So, it’s safe to assume that there are even more runes outside?”

“None of your business,” Bobby called before Dean could answer.

Cass sighed in annoyance. “Bear with me. I’m not trying to get information, I am proving a point. I’m going to assume that there are more, and probably more on the building itself, because it was prepared to hold me. You have utilized everything your limited knowledge had available, so getting out of here on my own will be difficult.”

“What’s your point?” Bobby wanted to know.

“My point is that if I can’t easily get out, it also means I can’t easily get in!” Cass exclaimed. “My point is that it’s the perfect place to hide Dean, a place where it would be difficult, if not impossible, for me to find him. If I hadn’t allowed myself to be taken and brought here, I might have lost him.” The angel’s eyes fixed on Dean again, softened. “That is something I don’t believe I could stand.”

Dean’s heart seemed to still for a moment in his chest as he met the angel’s eyes. His mouth opened, to say what, he wasn’t sure. But his teeth clicked painfully shut when Bobby grabbed his arm and wrenched him backwards, sending him stumbling out of the room. A hard shove caused Dean to fall into the wall on the opposite side. He turned, surprised and upset, to see Bobby slamming and locking the door. “Bobby, what the hell?!”

“I told you not to go near him!”

Dean was about to protest that he wasn’t when he realized it wasn’t true. He hadn’t even realized until this moment that he’d already started to move forward, trying to go to Cass, before Bobby had forced him out of the cell. He shook his head. “Bobby...”

“I don’t care.” Grabbing Dean by the arm again, Bobby started marching back towards the library. “That’s the last time you go near that angel, Dean.”

“For now, anyway.” Ketch had joined them and was marching along next to him. His eyes were bright. “He doesn’t get to talk to the Trickster again unless that angel starts cooperating a hell of a lot more than he’s done so far.”

Dean sputtered. “What?! Bobby, wait!”

But the old man was in no mood to wait. Dragging a stumbling Dean with him, Bobby marched into the room.

Ketch trailed behind him, a delighted smile on his face. “We’ve got him,” he announced. “I know how we can get the Trickster to help us.”

Finally released, Dean sank into a chair moments before his shaking knees would have given out. Around him was a cacophony of noise as everyone tried to ask questions at once. Dean thought to plug his ears with his fingers just a moment before Bobby’s shrill whistle silenced everyone.

Ketch cleared his throat. “Ta for that, I think. We just had a most informative conversation. I now know that the Trickster has got a weakness, one we can exploit. You saw it, didn’t you Singer?”

“Never would have imagined it,” Bobby admitted. “I probably would have denied it if I hadn’t just seen it for myself, but it’s true! Apparently, angels, or at least this one, can experience human emotions.”

“What?!”

“Impossible!”

“You’ve gone senile, old man.”

“Boy, you watch your mouth,” Bobby warned, shaking a warning finger in Cole’s face. “It’s true. The Trickster has emotions.”

“And it gets better,” Ketch declared, “because it seems he’s fallen in love with Dean.”

Dean felt his cheeks flush. He stared hard at his folded hands on the table, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he mumbled.

“Now hold your horses, Ketch,” Bobby warned. “It’s true that the Trickster seems to have strong feelings for Dean, but...”

“So we can use this as leverage?” Cole wanted to know. “You really think that the Trickster will cooperate in exchange for, what, the chance to send love letters to Dean?”

Bobby opened his mouth to protest, but Ketch was already nodding. “I think if we threaten Winchester, we can get the Trickster to fall in line.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Bobby roared.

“Easy, tiger,” Ellen cautioned. “No one’s going to actually hurt Dean. But the Trickster, he doesn’t know that, does he?”

The room went quiet. Then Gordon started laughing. “Perfect!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Oh, that is just too perfect.”


	17. Just My Imagination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Increasingly unhappy with the methods of the angel hunters, Dean decides to try a different approach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to Styx_and_stones for the Greatest Comment EVER on chapter 15!

“No, no, no!” Bobby yelled. “There is no way in hell I’m going to let anyone put my boy in any more danger. Not happening!”

“No one is going to hurt Dean,” Ellen soothed. “He wouldn’t be in any danger.”

“Nothing serious, anyway,” Gordon amended. “But it’s a real edge! If we don’t get what we need from the Trickster, we drag Dean down there. Let the Trickster see a few cuts and bruises on his boytoy, and...”

“Um, do I get a say in this?” Dean asked.

No one heard him over the yelling. Bobby had exploded, screaming at Gordon while Ellen and Cole tried valiantly to hold him back. “You son of a bitch!” Bobby was roaring. “You put so much as a finger on Dean, I will ventilate you!”

“Calm down!” Cole yelled. “No one said anything about actually beating on Dean.”

“There’s hardly any need,” Ketch agreed. “We can just have Ellen use her make-up on him, Singer. She can make him look like he’s injured, and...”

Ellen blinked. “Excuse me? Use my make-up on him?!”

“Of course,” Ketch replied, oblivious.

“Does, ah, anyone want my opinion?” Dean asked.

“That,” Cole declared, pointing at Ketch, “was a seriously sexist thing to say. Just because she’s a woman, you assume she can do that?”

“Why would you assume she even has make-up?” Gordon asked.

Ketch rolled his eyes. “Alright, then, do you?”

“Sure,” Gordon replied, looking hard at Ketch. “It’s in the purse I’m about to shove up your ass!”

More yelling. Ash appeared in one doorway, looking like he had something to say. He stopped, watched the screaming match for a few seconds, shook his head, and walked away.

“Why do we have to make the Trickster think we’ve hurt Dean anyway?” Ellen asked. “If he’s really in love like you think he is, then maybe just forbidding him from seeing Dean might do the job.”

“It’s the Trickster,” Ketch spat, “not your lovesick teenaged daughter!”

“Oh, you do NOT want to bring JoAnna Beth into this, mister, I will tear you apart!”

“Ok, this isn’t about your daughter, Ellen!” Cole called. “The point is, we need to find a way to make the Trickster talk now. We need information, and we need it fast! Every moment we waste, another human could be taken as a vessel.”

“He’s right,” Ketch agreed. “It’s best if we hold off a bit, but we could begin by threatening Dean.”

“Just so long as we ALL agree that no one is actually laying a hand on him,” Bobby declared, glaring daggers at Gordon.

“Do I even need to be here?” Dean wondered. “Doesn’t seem like anyone is interested in talking to me right now.”

Once again, he was ignored. Everyone continued to argue around him.

Deciding that Ash had the right idea, Dean quietly got up and walked away, heading towards the room he’d chosen for himself. Once inside, he closed the door, put on his noise-cancelling headphones, and turned on his music. Robert Plant was way better to listen to than the argument down the hall anyway.

At some point, he fell asleep. When he woke, the album he’d been listening to was finished and his headphones had fallen off next to his pillow. As usual, he was face-down, one arm twisted under him and the other above his head. Sammy used to wonder aloud how Dean managed to sleep in such awkward, twisted positions? He’d never gotten an answer.

Would he ever?

The thought of his brother removed the remaining fog of sleep from Dean’s mind. Sammy. Sammy was still trapped. He’d always believed he would be willing to do whatever it took to save his brother. But now? Now Dean just didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore.

With a sigh, he got up, grabbed some clean clothes, and headed for the bathroom. A shit, shower, shampoo and shave later, he padded out to the kitchen in his stocking feet to make some coffee. No one else seemed to be awake. What time was it? The clock read 0420. Well, that explained why everyone was asleep.

Well, almost everyone. There was one person in the bunker Dean was sure was awake.

Dean fired up the Keurig, got himself a hot mug of joe, and sipped it thoughtfully as he considered the pros and cons of what was going through his head. The cons were obvious and many. First, Bobby would kill him. Whatever shreds Bobby left of Dean would likely be atomized by the rest of the angel hunters if they thought Dean had interfered in their plans. Of course, no one had bothered to include Dean in any of those plans, at least in any active way. Dean obviously figured very highly in the ones they’d been arguing about before Dean left. Beyond that, Dean knew that the Trickster had more than a passing interest in him. That whole “soulmates” thing still bothered Dean.

Then there was what the angel had said.

_“I couldn’t let the demons have you. I couldn’t even let these humans take you away from me, Dean. I let them take me without a fight so that I could stay near you.”_

_“If I hadn’t allowed myself to be taken and brought here, I might have lost him. That is something I don’t believe I could stand.”_

The words had circled in Dean’s mind, following him into a troubled sleep filled with dark wings and intense ocean-blue eyes. What had Cass called it? A profound bond. Yeah, Dean had to admit that there was something between them that was pretty damned profound. Dean barely knew the bastard who’d kidnapped him. All he’d known was stories, those he’d learned from Bobby, those he’d picked up on the internet, and what little he’d learned from Angel...

Dean nearly choked on his coffee. Angel. How could he have forgotten Angel? Angel was still captured, being held somewhere by the King of Hell and tortured, while he stood around in the dark drinking coffee and thinking about profound bonds. He had to help Angel! And the best chance he had of doing that was just waiting to be asked.

Mind made up, Dean quickly chugged the rest of his coffee (no need to let it go to waste, after all, and besides, he needed the boost) and headed down to the dungeon.

Castiel was right where Dean had left him. The light from the hallway revealed the angel’s poor condition. He didn’t look much better than he had before, but that was to be expected. Dean’s eyes went to the Enochian-warded cuffs on the angel’s wrists, wincing at the dried blood he saw there. Cass’s eyes were closed, his head resting on his chest. Maybe he was asleep?

“Hello, Dean.”

When Cass’s gravelly voice filled the cell, Dean jumped. “Oh! I thought you were sleeping.”

“Angels don’t sleep,” Cass reminded, finally opening his eyes to look at Dean. “Not unless they’ve been severely damaged.”

“Um, that’s kind of what I’m here about.” Those blue eyes were fixed on Dean. He felt like a deer in headlights as they followed him. How the hell had Cass even known it was him? Of course, Dean hadn’t barged in, slamming doors and throwing all the lights on like one of the angel hunters likely would have done. Didn’t matter. _Focus, dammit!_ Dean told himself.

He made himself come closer to the angel, maintaining eye contact. “Angel’s still in trouble,” Dean began. “The King of Hell is holding him prisoner, and he’s already worked him over good.”

“Yes, I imagine he would.” Cass was frowning now. “It’s imperative that he’s rescued as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, but how?” Dean wondered. “And before you tell me to let you go, let’s just establish that it’s not happening.” Dean straightened as he said the words, hoping to make his conviction known. Angel was his friend, and Dean intended to do as much as he could to save him, but Sammy was his brother. Sam had already been trapped for a year. He needed to come first, and Castiel, the Trickster, was the best chance Sammy had.

At least he was until Dean found another option.

Fortunately, Cass didn’t seem to upset at this news. “The most important thing you can do is restore him,” he explained. “Throughout history, before we made ourselves known on your planet during the war, your kind have assigned various attributes to those of us you became aware of. For example, I was considered the angel of Thursday.”

“Thursday?” Dean echoed, confused. “What’s so special about Thursday that it gets its own angel?”

Cass actually chuckled. “It was a long time ago, and normally I would tell you it doesn’t matter. But in this case, it might just be what you need to help our friend.” The angel leaned closer to Dean, ignoring the cuffs that dragged on his arms. “The angel assigned to you was considered the angel of imagination. But there’s one problem. We gathered up nearly everything dealing with angels during the purge. The information we left behind that contains our names? Most of it would be of little value because it’s ancient, written in a time when spelling in English was, well, less than standardized. As a result, most of what you’ll find is, well...”

“It’s misspelled?” Dean asked incredulously. “Seriously, Cass? I can find Angel’s name, but it won’t be spelled right? How the hell am I supposed to be able to pronounce it if it’s not even spelled right?!”

“Dean, surely he told you his name when he first approached you!” Cass asked, exasperated.

“Well, yeah,” Dean admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But I, um, kind of forgot. Wait!” he called, raising a hand as Cass’s face darkened. “This could work. Even if it’s spelled wrong, it should be enough to help me remember his actual name. Then all I have to do is say it?”

“Say it _correctly,_ Dean,” Cass warned. “You can’t help our friend if you don’t correctly say his name aloud!”

“Ok, just to be clear,” Dean began, “how, exactly, is this going to help? It’ll give Angel his mojo back, sure, but he’s still being held prisoner by the King of Hell.” Dean grimaced, remembering the picture he’d seen. “He’s already had the shit beaten out of him, and I think we both agree that Crowley fucker’s not done with him. Frankly, I imagine he’s a lot worse off than you are, Cass, but look at you!” He indicated the cuffs holding Cass’s hands above his head. “All we’ve got on you is one pair of cuffs and a whole bunch of shit painted on walls. Angel was all strapped down and surrounded by demons. You’re more powerful than Angel is even on a good day, right?”

“That’s correct,” Cass confirmed. “I am silver level, while he’s only copper.”

“Well, that kind of proves my point.” Dean shrugged. “If you can’t bust out of here, how the hell do you expect Angel to do it?”

“I don’t,” Cass explained. “If you can restore his name, he won’t have to ‘bust’ anything.” Cass made air quotes with his cuffed hands and shook his head. “He sent you to me, not to Michael or any other angel. When his powers are restored, he can reach out, let us know where he is.” Cass shook his head. “All I can hope is that he remembers enough.”

“Remembers enough?” Dean asked, puzzled. “What’s that mean?”

Cass didn’t answer. Dean stiffened. “Wait,” he called, “Angel would have his mojo and his name, but still be hurt and trapped. And you think he could somehow get out from under the King of Hell and his demons?”

Cass didn’t answer, the blue eyes suddenly shifting away.

“Cass, no one took your name away,” Dean said slowly. “What’s keeping you from using the same thing you’re hoping Angel does to bust out of here?”

Again, no answer. But blue eyes were looking hard at Dean now, seeming almost to pierce right through him.

_I let them take me without a fight so that I could stay near you._

“You can get out,” Dean realized. He started to back towards the door. “You could have gotten out all along, couldn’t you? But you stayed, because...”

“Dean?” Cass’s voice was soft, yet commanding enough that Dean froze in his tracks. “If you tell the angel hunters, they will undoubtedly try to restrain me, lock me down even more. Worse, they might take you away. If that is what you want, I will respect your wishes.”

Dean blinked in surprise. “You will?”

“I will, although it will tear me apart,” Cass admitted. “I have fought for too long for free will to ignore yours. I want you to come with me willingly. If you believe these hunters can protect you from Michael and you have no wish to come with me, so be it. I’ll remain here, do what I can to protect you.”

“Why?” Dean wanted to know. “Why would you put yourself through all this shit when you don’t have to?”

The angel’s eyes seemed to pin Dean in place. “Because I know you feel what I do. God may not be with us any longer, but it seems some parts of His original plan remain.”

When the hell had he moved closer? When had he reached out a hand to brush back a lock of dark hair off of Cass’s forehead? Now Cass had turned his head so he could lean into Dean’s palm, and oh, that was nice. It was the first time he’d really gotten to touch Cass on his own, without the angel dragging him off or holding him in place. Once again, he could feel that odd tingling sensation. It wasn’t the almost-burning feeling he’d noticed when Cass first grabbed his arm. This was more like a faint static, yet warm and altogether pleasant. What would it be like to touch Cass some more? He could do it now. No one would know if he put his arms around the angel, held him close against him so that he could experience that sensation along his entire body. No one would know how the rasp of stubble on Cass’s cheek tickled the side of Dean’s neck when the angel ducked his head, pressing against Dean even more. Above them, the rattle of chains was like nails on a chalkboard. Dean glared up, hating the chains and the metal cuffs that kept his angel from putting his arms around Dean. It wasn’t right. Cass was his, and no one had the right to keep his angel from him. Well, that was easily fixed. Ketch had to have the keys to those stupid cuffs somewhere. All Dean had to do was find them, come back here, free Cass...

Realization hit him like a bucket of ice water to the face. With a gasp, Dean pushed the angel away, stumbling backwards to nearly fall into the wall. One hand was still out, warding Cass off (and NOT trying to reach out for the angel again), the other clung to the solid brick wall. His head was spinning.

“What’s wrong?” Cass actually sounded concerned. The chains rattled as the angel pulled on them, trying to get closer to Dean.

“Stay back!” Dean warned. “You son of a bitch, you think I’m going to let you try that shit again?”

Blue eyes blinked in an amazing mimicry of confusion. “Try what again?”

“You put the whammy on me!” Dean accused. “You damned near had me convinced that I should find the keys to those cuffs and let you go!”

Cass squinted at him, frowning and tilting his head to one side. “That would be helpful, yes. Will you?”

“Will I what?”

Cass shook his arms. “Find the keys and let me go?”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “You don’t give up, do you? You know what, Cass? I have no one but myself to blame for this. You have been worming your way into my head from the day we met. Well, it’s not going to work. Because I’m leaving now, and I’m not coming back.”

Sudden pain in Cass’s amazing eyes. He looked down, nodded. “If that is what you want, Dean.”

Great, now he was feeling guilty about hurting the feelings of the flying dick who’d almost mind controlled him into doing something spectacularly stupid. Disgusted, he started out the door. But he paused before closing it. “What you said, about Angel’s name,” he began. “Will that really work?”

“It will if you help him. Dean, once you restore his name, he’ll be able to hear you if you pray to him.”

“Ok,” Dean said slowly, “so what do I pray to him?”

Cass hesitated.

“Oh, hey, look at the time, see ya!” Dean moved to close the door.

“Wait!”

Paydirt. Cass had shown his hand. Dean knew now that his real plan for escape had been to zap Dean’s brain and get Dean to free him. But now that Dean had cleverly foiled that plan, Cass was going to have to resort to Plan B, revealing whatever he’d intended to help Angel. Dean hesitated at the door long enough to make Cass worry. Then he pasted a frown on his face and turned back. “What, Cass?”

“When you pray to our friend, tell him to remember the four.”

Dean blinked. “Remember the four?” he echoed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“If he remembers, he’ll know,” Cass said cryptically. “If he doesn’t, there’s not much I can do to help him. Hope he remembers.”

Dean noted the way the angel was refusing to meet his eyes and nodded. Cass was being all mysterious now, meaning he’d get no more tonight. Fine. He’d ask Bobby in the morning.

Dean left the dungeon, heading back to his room. He was surprised to see Bobby was awake and in the kitchen, fully dressed and surly as ever. Granted, the old man was usually up before he was, but this was stupidly early by anyone’s standards. Fortunately, Bobby was too busy mixing his coffee to realize Dean had just come from the dungeon. He didn’t even realize Dean was there until Dean slid back a chair at the table. Then he greeted Dean with a grunt.

“Good morning to you, too,” Dean began. “Hey Bobby, you have a book somewhere with lists of angel names?”

That earned him another grunt. “You still want to figure out that angel’s name?”

Dean traced shapes on the table with a finger to avoid meeting Bobby’s eyes. If he mentioned the “remember the four” thing now, Bobby would want to know where Dean had heard it. Dean wasn’t ready to answer that yet. But at least he had an answer to this question. “It’s the least I can do, right? I mean, I’m the one who got him captured in the first place. The least I can do is try to give him his name back!”

Bobby shrugged. “I don’t see the harm in it. If it makes you feel better, why don’t you just look in Ketch’s library?” Bobby gestured towards the shelves of books. “The Men of Letters would have a hell of a lot more angel lore than I was ever able to get my hands on. If your angel’s name isn’t there, well, it’s not likely you’ll find it anywhere.”

“Thanks, Bobby!” Dean got up.

Bobby gave him a look. “No breakfast? Not even coffee?”

“Oh!” Of course Bobby would notice when Dean didn’t eat. “I’ll just grab some toast.”

Bobby was still giving him a look. Dean pretended not to see it, quickly made some toast, smeared some spread across them and gobbled them down with a second cup of coffee. Then he was up and in the library.

The Men of Letters had clearly never heard of computer filing. Dean was drowning in the bottomless pit of the Dewy Decimal System. He was seriously considering setting fire to the entire filing system just to force an upgrade when Ash appeared. “Hey, Dean-dog,” he called. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, great.” Dean rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I take it you didn’t find Angel yet?”

“Not yet,” the hacker admitted. “Soon as anything pops up, you’ll be first to know.”

“Thanks man. But Angel, he was so beat down,” Dean worried. “He was already having to eat and sleep. And he burned himself out saving me. Would he even have the power to cause any of those signs?”

Ash shrugged. “I dunno. But he’s still an angel, even if he’s practically human now, right? Maybe he’s not, you know, as bad as we thought?”

Dean stared at him. “It’s the King of Hell. He’s got to be in agony!”

Ash gave him a small smile. “Angel will send up a flare eventually, and when he does, I’ll catch it. Promise.”

Dean managed a smile. “Meantime, I need to do what I can to help him. Say, Ash, you any good with this filing system?”

It was a long shot, but to his surprise, Ash was surprisingly adept with the system. Dean explained what he wanted, and in a few minutes, the mullet-haired computer expert was even helping Dean look through dusty tomes.

Even with Ash’s help, it was a hell of a job. Dean was in danger of faceplanting cross-eyed into the book he was looking through when Ash exclaimed, “Found it! Angel of imagination, right?”

Dean was instantly awake and clear-eyed. “Yeah, imagination. Gimme!”

Ash pushed the book towards Dean. Dean moved over the list of angels, stopping when he reached what he was looking for. “Man, why the hell don’t angels have normal names?” Dean complained. “How do you even pronounce this? Sam-an-dir-iel?”

“That sound right?” Ash asked. “You said the other angel dude said it was spelled wrong.”

“Yeah.” Dean frowned. “Samandiriel, that’s definitely wrong. It’s too much. I don’t know. It’s too long or something, but it’s close. Right on the tip of my tongue!”

“Ok, you need to chill,” Ash advised. “You’re trying too hard, dude. Sit back, close your eyes.”

“Ash?” Dean began, eyeing the other man warily, “if you are trying to pull some new age bullshit with me...?”

“Dean, you’re trying too hard.” Ash slid his chair back and closed his eyes. “The more you try to force it, the less likely it’ll happen. So you gotta clear your mind.”

Weirdly enough, that made some sort of sense. With a sigh, Dean sat back and closed his eyes.

“Ok,” Ash began. “Now focus on your breathing, in, out. Slow breath in, slow breath out.”

Dean followed instruction, and oddly enough, was soon relaxing into his chair.

“Now think back to when you first met Angel,” Ash said. “Don’t think about what he said, though. Think about the rest of it. What did you see, smell? What else was going on?”

“Well, until he showed up, it was a pretty normal day.”

“Walk me through it,” Ash urged. “You got up that morning, what did you do?”

Dean obediently began to recite his day. By the time he got to the point just before Angel’s appearance, it almost felt like he was back there. “Then this blonde, blue-eyed guy comes strolling in,” he said, “and came right up to me. I went to shake his hand, but instead he grabbed my arm and says, ‘Dean Winchester, rejoice! My name is...’” Dean gasped, eyes flying open. “Samandriel!”


	18. The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped and alone, Samandriel faces a tough decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a safe and happy Thanksgiving, for those in the States, or just a safe and enjoyable time for everyone else! Unfortunately, it's been a rough time for those of us in the healthcare field, and only getting worse. Please, wear your masks, practice social distance, and remember, it's far better to celebrate at a distance and have your loved ones around next year.

With the return of his name, Samandriel felt his strength finally return. And it couldn’t have happened at a better time.

“Open wide for the choo-choo train,” the demon was calling, raising another spoonful of slop towards his mouth.

Samandriel clamped his mouth shut. This caused the demon, Ruby was her name, to roll her eyes and sigh deeply. “Listen, you stupid angel, you know you’re not getting anything else. You’re so weak you can barely stay awake anymore. Now open your mouth and eat this shit before I let you starve right here in this chair!”

It wasn’t an idle threat. Samandriel had been starved when he’d been first captured, left weak and fainting from hunger. It wasn’t until he’d also lost control of his bladder that the demons had finally believed he’d been telling the truth about just how weak he really was. Now, somehow, that had changed.

Strength flowed through him. Soon, his wounds would heal. The sigils all around him still blocked most of his powers. He was still strapped into the chair. But at least he finally wasn’t getting any weaker.

Of course, the demon trying to force him to eat didn’t know that. Samandriel realized it was to his benefit to keep it that way and reluctantly opened his mouth.

“About damned time,” Ruby complained, shoving the spoon deep enough to gag Samandriel. “You know, you should be thanking me,” she continued as the angel choked. “The king, may he get fucked to death by a hellhound and leave Hell to rejoice, wants you alive. So I get stuck dealing with your piss and shit and feeding your sorry ass. And why? Because I wasn’t able to accomplish the task of bringing in the last platinum-level candidate!” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head in disgust. “Now Crowley’s shitting his fancy red silk boxers, terrified Lucifer’s going to get bored and come down here again, and my punishment is you. And let me tell you something.” Ruby shook the spoon in his face. “I could have just fed you regular generic dog food and been done with it, but no! I got you the brand name stuff. Hell, I even put water in it and a vitamin. For what? For some feathered piece of shit so weak he’s practically human to turn up his pretty little nose at it? You should thank me!” The spoon was angrily tossed into the bowl. Watery dog food splashed into Samandriel’s face. Then there was an explosion of pain when the demon backhanded him. “Say it! Say thank you! Or I’ll shove the rest of this right up your squeaky clean celestial ass!”

“Thank you,” Samandriel managed. His hands clenched on the arms of the chair where he’d been restrained.

“Well, shit,” Ruby grunted. “Maybe you can teach a holy pain in the dick a new trick or two after all. Let’s go. Eat up.”

Samandriel opened his mouth for another spoonful and tried to distract himself with his thoughts. Crowley and another demon, Viggo, had been torturing him almost non-stop, trying to find Dean. He’d resolved not to tell them, but every day brought a new form of torture. The latest version had nearly killed him. Crowley had started shoving long metal spikes into his skull, digging through the brain of his vessel to access his true being. The pain was beyond anything he’d imagined.

But at the same time, it was familiar. Vaguely, he could remember being in a chair similar to this in a white room, hearing someone screaming. Was it real? Had he looked over, seen a woman bent over a screaming man in a familiar trench coat and watching in helpless horror as she’d drilled into the man’s head, before she turned and used her drill on Samandriel’s own?

No. That didn’t make any sense. No one had drilled into his head. He was a prisoner of the King of Hell. He’d been tortured, beaten, starved, humiliated, and deprived of sleep. Of course, in his condition, he was likely to suffer from hallucinations. The fact he’d never experienced them before was hardly relevant. He’d never experienced hunger or sleep deprivation, either.

Ruby, still complaining about her unwelcome role as caretaker, had just shoveled the last cold, runny spoonful of slop into Samandriel’s mouth when it happened.

_Samandriel? Hey, buddy. It’s me, Dean Winchester. Finally figured your name out!_

The shock was enough that he nearly choked again. Fortunately, the complaining demon didn’t notice. Ruby was roughly gathering up the dishes, irritated that now she had to clean up. Samandriel ignored her. Somewhere, Dean had not only found and restored his name, but now was praying to him!

 _I guess I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, but here goes,_ Dean continued, oblivious to the fact that he was the one person Samandriel had wanted most to hear from, except perhaps for Castiel. _I wanted you to know that I made it. You gave yourself up to save me, and it worked. Now I want to return the favor._

 _No, Dean,_ Samandriel thought desperately, knowing the human could never hear him. _No, don’t try to find me. Crowley wants you! He’s been keeping me alive, torturing me, just so he can get his hands on you!_

But Dean wasn’t finished. _I found the Trickster, and I know if you don’t hate me already, you will when I tell you this. I, um, helped the angel hunters trap him. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do, who to trust. Still don’t know if I can really trust him. Anyway, they’re holding him prisoner. He’s alright, mostly. They beat him up a bit. But obviously, he can’t help you now. Cass did tell me something, though. I’m supposed to tell you to remember the four. I hope that means more to you than it does to me, because frankly, it just confuses the hell out of me. Anyway, you hang on, Samandriel. I won’t forget about you, and if you can’t find a way out, I will figure out something. I am coming for you, ok?_

Dean’s prayer was over, and Samandriel wanted to scream. The words “remember the four” didn’t mean anything more to him than they’d meant to Dean. Something about them caused an odd twinge. It made him think, for some reason, of his strange and frightening hallucination. Then it was gone, leaving nothing but frustration in its wake. He had his powers back, but he was no better off. He couldn’t completely heal himself or break free because the sigils that surrounded him kept those powers locked inside. He was still strapped securely into the chair. And he was rarely left alone. Now that Ruby had finished her caretaker tasks, any moment now, Crowley or his torturer would return and pick up where they’d left off. To that end, they hadn’t removed the metal spike in his forehead. It was still there, skewering his celestial being, providing a guide for future spikes. Worse, it was blocking his telepathy. Now that he had it back, he was frustrated by his inability to use it.

Wait. His powers were locked inside him. But the spike was inside of him, too.

Concentrating, Samandriel focused his powers, ignoring the pain to slowly push the spike out of his head. It made a beautiful sound when it hit the filthy concrete floor. No time to celebrate. Castiel had been his last and best hope. But he knew now that his former friend was a prisoner, too. He couldn’t rely on the Trickster now. And every moment the torture went on was another moment closer to the point Crowley might finally break him. If that happened, or if Dean really did try to mount a suicidal rescue mission…?

Dean Winchester wanted to die rather than let Michael make him his vessel. But what the King of Hell would do to him would be far worse. Samandriel had first-hand experience of that.

No choice. Nowhere to turn. Nothing to do except follow his orders. Samandriel reached out to the gold level angel he’d served. _“Naomi. Crowley has me. I’m at…”_

The door opened, and Samandriel immediately drew all traces of angelic power deep inside.

Crowley came into the room. The King of Hell walked slowly around his prisoner, frowning when he spotted the fallen spike. Samandriel fought down his panic as the demon picked it up. “Ah, ah, ah,” the King of Hell scolded. “Been on angel radio, have we?”

Terror twisted Samandriel’s insides, making him want to throw up the foul concoction Ruby had just fed to him. “No,” he lied.

Crowley tsked. “Don’t lie to me, Alfie,” he scolded, once again calling Samandriel by the name of his vessel. The only good thing about Samandriel’s entire ordeal was that the spikes shoved into his head had finally, mercifully, killed the man.

Of course, that did little to help Samandriel. His body shook with fear. “I’m not lying,” he insisted weakly. “Please, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

That sounded like a lie even to Samandriel. It never came close to convincing Crowley. The demon put on a disappointed face. “Oh, Alfie, after all this time together! How I wish that were so.” He turned towards Samandriel, raising up the spike. “Now we’re going to have to turn off that signal,” he announced, moving towards the helpless angel. “Again.”

Horror froze Samandriel in place. He could only watch as the spike grew close. “No.”

Closer. “No!”

Closer. _“No!”_

****

Uriel knew there was trouble when he was summoned to Naomi’s office. He’d been expecting it for some time, ever since that disturbing news flashed through the ranks that Michael’s new vessel had gone missing, along with the collector assigned to bring him in. Uriel had done all he could to help his friend, but Samandriel had failed, and failed spectacularly. Now all of Heaven was in an uproar, demons were crawling all over the Earth, the human population was completely confused, and worst of all, no one knew where Winchester or Samandriel were now.

Samandriel. The realization that he could once again think of the name of his friend caused Uriel’s steps to falter for a moment. Apparently, Winchester had finally been convinced to restore Samandriel’s name. Well, that was certainly good news. Uriel had been taking a lot of heat for the role he’d played in distracting Michael, delaying his taking of his new vessel. Then Bartholomew, damn his wings, had gleefully informed Uriel that, during a “routine audit” of angelic forces, he’d been completely unable to find any evidence of a protection force assigned to Winchester.

Little wonder Uriel now found himself being summoned into the office of his superior.

Uriel tried to prepare himself for anything, but was still surprised to find several angels already present in Naomi’s office. There was Bartholomew, smirking like the sycophant he was. Hael was here, too, the copper level scowling fiercely with arms across her chest and one foot tapping impatiently. But the presence of the third angel made Uriel’s heart sink. “Balthazar,” he said, greeting the other silver angel. “Surprised to see you here.”

“I’d certainly prefer not to be here,” Balthazar admitted, glancing uneasily at Naomi.

The gold level angel cleared her throat. “Now that Uriel has joined us, let’s get started. Balthazar, please have her brought in?”

Balthazar nodded, glanced briefly at Uriel, and went to the door. A moment later, a pair of guards dragged in a battered, chained demon, throwing her roughly to the floor. “Ow,” she complained. “No way to treat a lady, guys!”

Even Bartholomew was surprised. His lip curled up in disgust. “What is this filth doing here?” he complained.

“This filth is apparently a messenger from the King of Hell,” Naomi explained. “She came to one of our Earth gates, seeking an audience with Michael. Naturally, she was refused, but she did have an interesting story to tell, complete with this picture.”

Naomi slid a picture across her desk. Uriel’s heart sank, seeing his friend a prisoner of the King of Hell. He growled. “Let me smite her?”

“Hey, easy, tiger,” the demon called. “Ever hear of not killing the messenger?”

“This creature is called Meg,” Naomi continued, ignoring her. “She claims that this picture is proof that Crowley has captured Samandriel. If that were the case, there is unfortunately little we could do, and therefore no reason to keep her alive.”

“But there is!” Meg called quickly as Uriel smiled and turned to her. “Like I told the Ice Queen there, Crowley has no intention of killing the cute little angel. Because if he did that, well, then you could just assign another collector to pick up Michael’s new toy, right?”

“Send me!” Hael immediately called. “I should have been assigned this candidate at the start, the moment he was registered. Samandriel was never going to be able to pull it off. That incompetent...”

“At least Samandriel wasn’t so eager to get silver that he didn’t check all the protocols were in order before she handed an unauthorized vessel to Lucifer,” Uriel reminded.

Hael flushed. “That’s precisely why I should have been given this assignment,” she insisted. “I was told I would have a chance to prove myself after my failure. This was the perfect chance! Samandriel should have signed over the vessel to me. I would have immediately brought him to Michael, and Michael could have been on Earth right now!”

“After your failure, I knew better than to trust the likes of you, Hael,” a voice boomed behind them. “But apparently, I shouldn’t have trusted Samandriel, either.”

Uriel bowed with the others as Michael swept into the room. The demon, Meg, whimpered in pain. Of course. Without a vessel, Michael’s exposed being was likely painful to the dark creature. The celestial essence hovered over Naomi. “Why was I not told immediately that there was word of my vessel, Naomi?” he demanded. “Why do I still not have him? I will tolerate no further delays!”

“Of course not, Archangel,” Naomi crooned, nearly faceplanting into her desk in an effort to show the proper obeisance to the archangel. “Samandriel reached out to me, but was cut off before he could reveal his location.” Her eyes narrowed as they went to Meg. “I had gathered these angels here so that I could put together a rescue mission. They will return Samandriel, and he will tell us where Dean Winchester is. Your vessel is coming. I had planned on utilizing Hael to deliver him to you, but if you would prefer another...?”

“NO!” Hael threw herself to the floor at the base of Michael’s essence. “Holy Archangel, I beg you, let me serve you. I will bring you your vessel, or cast myself into the void!”

Michael made an annoyed sound. “See to it. Naomi, I am tired of waiting for my vessel. Have him delivered to me by the end of the week. Or you, and all the angels here with you, will join this pitiful excuse for an angel in the void.”

Even Naomi’s eyes widened in alarm. “Of course, Michael. It will be done.”

Michael swept out, leaving a group of shaken angels behind him. Meg gave a low whistle. “Wow,” she remarked. “So this is what it’s like when a room full of angels all shit bricks at the same time. I wonder if it just started hailing somewhere?”

The angels ignored her.

“Naomi, this is insane!” Balthazar exclaimed. “You want us to find wherever Crowley is hiding, rescue Samandriel, find and retrieve Winchester, sign him over to Hael and deliver him to Michael, all within a week?!”

“It can be done,” Naomi insisted. Her eyes went to Meg, who had suddenly gone silent. “Bartholomew? Get this disease to tell us everything she knows.”

“With pleasure.”

Bartholomew had started towards Meg, who took a step back and held up a manacled hand. “Whoa, there, stud! I like to play rough as much as the next girl, but you don’t have to pay me to get in bed with you. I’ll tell you everything you want to know, about Crowley, about Samandriel, about Dean Winchester, and about someone else you might be interested in. Or don’t you care about the Trickster anymore?”

“The Trickster?” Uriel echoed, frowning. “He’s a rogue! Whatever you might have to say about him, he poses no threat.”

Meg shook his head. “Nope!” she called, popping her lips on the P. “I’ve seen him myself. Hot, at least the winged version. Wouldn’t mind moving some furniture around with him.”

Bartholomew made as if to strike her and she flinched. “Ok, getting to the point! Despite what your always-truthful leaders have been saying, the Trickster is very much real, and very much a threat.” She nodded, looking past Uriel. “Just ask your boss lady over there. You think she’d be getting her panties into this much of a twist over a simple rogue?”

Naomi straightened and narrowed her eyes. She pressed her lips tightly together, one hand drumming on her desk. After a moment of thought, she appeared to come to a decision. Rising to her feet, she met the eyes of every angel in the room. “What I am about to tell you must not leave this room,” she began. “From this moment on, every angel here is sworn to the highest level of secrecy.”

“Oooh, exciting!” Meg breathed.

“He’s a minor threat, but one that will soon be eliminated,” Bartholomew announced smugly. “I’ve been appointed to a crack team of angels assigned to...”

Naomi slammed a fist on the table. “You’ll be demoted to a standard level button pusher if you say another word!” she threatened.

“But it’s true?” Balthazar pressed. He looked, to Uriel, remarkably calm to have learned such a molt-inducing thing. “The traitor Castiel could actually pose a threat to us?”

Naomi crossed her arms over her chest, directly meeting his gaze. “He does. That is why, from this moment on, I’m cancelling that other team.”

“Wait, my team?” Bartholomew squeaked. “But Naomi...!”

“As of now, your mission is two-fold. It is of the utmost importance that Michael receives his vessel as quickly as possible. But at the same time, we cannot overlook the chance to learn more about Castiel.”

Balthazar gave her a look. “So, instead of accomplishing one impossible feat, we’re now working on two? This is a great plan!”

“Enough!” Naomi snapped. “Balthazar, you are in charge of securing any and all troops you feel may be necessary to mount a rescue mission for Samandriel. Bartholomew, you will work with this demon to find his location. Uriel, you will plan and organize the mission. And once Samandriel signs him over, Hael will take possession of Dean Winchester and see he is delivered to Michael.”

“Am I to prepare one mission, or two?” Uriel asked. “The mission for Samandriel would have very different logistics than one to attack whatever stronghold Castiel may have made for himself.”

“There will be no attack on Castiel,” Naomi explained. “That mission will be intelligence-gathering only. Under no circumstance is contact to be made.”

Uriel gaped at her. Hael sputtered. “We’re going to spy on the Trickster and not go after him, even though you just said he’s a threat?”

“I believe my orders were very clear.” Naomi sat down, smoothing her skirt. “You have your assignments. I expect them to be carried out. Dismissed.”

Uriel’s head was spinning as he left the office. He barely noticed that Balthazar had fallen into step next to him until the other angel’s hand rested on his shoulder. “Uriel, a word, if you would?”

Uriel nodded, allowing himself to be led aside. “Balthazar, do you have any idea what just happened?” he wondered. “You knew Castiel. He was a dreamer, but he was never any sort of threat! How did he suddenly become so powerful that Naomi is... is...?”

“...Is afraid to attack him directly?”

Uriel shook his head. “What the hell has Castiel gotten into now?”

Balthazar lowered his voice. “What if I told you that Castiel is only the tip of the iceberg? That you, me, all of us, are being manipulated and lied to?”

“I’d say I’m just about ready to believe it,” Uriel grumbled unhappily.

“Then let me tell you a story,” Balthazar urged. “A story that I’m quite literally risking my own life to tell you, but one that I think it’s important to hear. Castiel. He’s still your friend?”

“Of course not!” Uriel said quickly. “That traitor is a friend to no one.”

Balthazar pierced him with his gaze. “I didn’t ask what you thought about what he did, Uriel. Castiel. Is he still your friend? Would you cheer to see him fall, or would you privately mourn him?”

Uriel was about to retort. But something about the look in Balthazar’s eyes made him stop. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “Castiel is still my friend.”

Balthazar leaned closer. “Castiel once fought at our side. We trusted him, stood wing-to-wing to hold off Hell’s attacks. When he started questioning things, suddenly he was branded a traitor, punished, and finally fled to avoid being imprisoned. But now we’re seeing for ourselves that we have not been told the truth. Castiel has something, Uriel. Something that scares even a gold level force of Heaven like Naomi.”

“What?” Uriel asked, curious despite his caution. “What does he have?”

Now Balthazar smiled. “If you want to know? Then I need to ask you to trust me. Because Uriel? What Castiel has is enough to turn Heaven upside-down.”


	19. Once a Trickster...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With time running out, the Trickster makes his move

The breath went out of Dean’s lungs with a whoosh. Dean grunted, almost doubled over from the force of the blow to his gut. “I am so done with you, you miserable fuck!” Gordon was screaming. “I ought to drag your sorry ass to Michael myself, just on principle!”

Dean coughed and spat a wad of phlegmy bile onto the floor. “You can’t,” he managed. “You’re too much of a chickenshit to show your face around any angel that isn’t chained up and beaten half to death!”

That earned him a kick in the ribs. Dean grunted again, propelled onto his back. Then Gordon was on top of him, straddling his body as he rained blows onto Dean. Dean did his best to shield his face, swinging whenever he saw an opening.

Dean raced into the room at the sound of shouting and stared, blinking in surprise. “What the actual fuck?!”

The flurry of punches stopped. Shouting filled the room as hands clutched at Gordon, dragging him off of Dean. Then Bobby was there, cradling Dean’s head in his lap. “Dean!”

“I’m alive,” Dean groaned. “Kind of regretting that fact right now, truth be told.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Dean demanded. “Bobby!”

Bobby frowned, looking from Dean to a still-furious Gordon. “What the hell happened?”

“I’ll tell you what happened.” Gordon pointed an accusing finger at Dean. “Your boy happened, Singer! And now, because of him, we just lost the best chance we had!”

“What? I didn’t do anything!” Dean protested.

Cole backed up as Gordon angrily shook himself free. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the Trickster!” Gordon roared. “He’s gone, and the only one who could have set him free is your boy, Singer!”

That resulted in a lot of yelling and racing around as the angel hunters rushed to see what happened. Dean didn’t join them. Instead, he coughed harshly and managed to drag himself to his feet. Making his way to the table seemed to be a real chore. By the time he’d staggered over to collapse in one of the chairs, everyone had returned. It was several minutes of yelling and throwing objects before Bobby settled everyone down with a shrill whistle. Even from where he stood, off in the corner watching, the sound of it made Dean wince. “What the hell is going on here?!” Dean exclaimed.

Ellen was helping Ash into a seat across the table from Dean. The hacker was groaning dramatically, as though he’d been the one Gordon was beating on instead of Dean. Ellen’s eyes looked hard at Dean before moving to a fuming Gordon. Ketch was sitting at the table with his head cradled in his hands. Cole stayed on his feet, pacing around and looking confused. Bobby had a damp cloth and was dabbing at the cut on Dean’s forehead. Dean allowed Bobby’s treatment, waited, and, when no one else spoke, cleared his throat. “How about a beer?”

Dean stared, aghast. “Seriously?! How the hell can anyone think that’s me?”

“Dean?” Bobby’s voice was low and carried a strong note of clear warning.

“I’m serious,” Dean insisted. “What’s done is done. So frankly, I could use a beer.”

“Dean, why?” Cole asked.

“And how?” Ketch groaned. “There was this bright flash, and then everything went dark. The next thing I remember is hearing Gordon screaming at you.”

“Same story here,” Ellen agreed.

“Wait a minute,” Dean called. “I got knocked out by that flash of light, too, ok?”

“I was in with Gordon, helping him work over the Trickster,” Cole added. “The same thing happened. A flash of light, and I woke up on the floor. The Trickster was gone, Gordon was gone. I had no idea what had happened until I heard Gordon.”

“I woke up on that same floor,” Gordon confirmed. “First thing I did was check on the Trickster. When the only thing I saw was a set of handcuffs, I knew someone had let him go. And my mind immediately went to the one person most likely to do it.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Dean protested. He moved closer to the group, waving his arms for attention. “Hey! Someone turn around and look at me!”

“Look, he wasn’t going to give you anything,” Not-Dean grumbled. He propped his head up, elbows on the table. “Keeping him here was more of a liability than anything else. Besides, he’s the only one who has any chance at saving Samandriel. I owe him one,

ok?”

“And now he’s gone and said the name?” Ketch groaned. “Oh, that’s perfect, that is.”

“Tell me you didn’t do this,” Bobby pleaded. He clutched at Not-Dean’s arm. “Tell me you didn’t just take it upon yourself to set Castiel free!”

Not-Dean shrugged free. “I’m getting a beer.” Without another word, he stormed off, wincing as he staggered towards the kitchen.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Dean yelled. “That isn’t me, I’m right here! I didn’t do anything!” Alarmed, Dean raced towards the one person who might be able to explain this.

There was Cass, still chained up in his cell. Dean shook his head, turned, and yelled down the hall. “Hey! You guys! He’s still here, see?”

“They can’t hear you,” Castiel explained quietly.

Dean shook his head. “What the hell is happening out there?!”

In answer, Castiel shook his wrists. “Let me go, and we’ll talk. The keys are in your pocket.”

Surprised, Dean reached down and pulled out the keys. He narrowed his eyes at the Trickster. “Give me one good reason why I should help you.”

“Certainly.” The angel’s finger pointed past Dean. “Do you enjoy being on the outside, watching while a vision of you interacts with your friends? You’re not getting out of this illusion without me, Dean. Now let me go, and we’ll talk.”

This was not a good idea, but at the moment, Dean didn’t know what else to do. Apparently, not even the strongest wards they had could fully contain the Trickster’s power. The illusions had been powerful enough to even trick Gordon and Cole, who had been standing here among the wards. No choice. Dean shook his head and reluctantly moved to unlock Cass’s hands. “I’m going to regret this,” he mumbled.

The Trickster quickly moved, putting a hand on Dean’s arm and leading him back to the room with the still-arguing angel hunters. The people in the room didn’t seem to be any more aware of Castiel than they were of Dean. Dean sighed, noting that the illusion of himself was back, beer in hand, arguing with the hunters. “Why did we come back here?”

“I thought you should have a chance to say goodbye,” Cass explained. “It seemed at least the man in the hat meant something to you.”

“Say goodbye...?” Dean’s eyes widened in realization.

The Trickster’s vise-like hand clamped around Dean’s wrist just as he thought of running. “The illusion will last a few minutes,” he explained as Dean strained to pull free. “Just long enough for us to get away. Then they’ll waste valuable time searching for what they believe is you. It will be some time before they realize what happened, if they do at all.” He shook his head, frowning in disapproval at Dean as the candidate kicked and fought. “Come along, Dean. It’s time to go.”

“No!”

Once again, there was nothing Dean could do. With the familiar rustle of wings, he found himself whisked away.

When the disorientation wore off, Dean looked around to discover himself in the last place he'd expected. "What the... You took me back to the house?!"

“Yes. It’s the last place your friends would think to look for you, and even if they do, we won’t be alone. The house is under guard this time. Four angels on constant watch. You’re safe here.” Castiel was looking at Dean, watching the human strain to pull free with his head cocked to one side. “Dean? Stop struggling.”

“Fucking let go of me, Cass!”

“No. Calm down.”

For a moment, Dean strongly considered punching the angel in the mouth. Deciding against it by the narrowest of margins, he went still, breathing hard as he fought to control his panic. _Think,_ he told himself. _Ok, he’s got me again. And this time, no one knows where I am to come and help me. Why the hell didn’t I wear the shoes with the tracker in the sole?_ The answer, of course, was that the shoes Ketch had managed to hastily secure for him didn’t really fit him, and the heel of his regular shoes hadn’t been thick enough to hide the device. It had never occurred to Dean to try to find a pair that worked in a size that fit. The oversight had him kicking himself now. _Bottom line, no one is coming to the rescue. So the only way out of this is if I do it myself. But how in the hell am I supposed to get past Cass and four other angels?_

He looked at Dean. “You appear to be calmer,” Castiel noted. “If I let go of you, are you going to try to run?”

“No,” Dean said. “Not like there’s anywhere to run to, is there?”

The answer seemed to please the Trickster. The grip on Dean’s wrist loosened to the point he was able to twist free. Dean cradled his wrist against his chest, rubbing it ruefully as he let his gaze flicker around the room. It was the exact same room he’d been brought to the first time Cass had taken him. Dean felt like screaming. Instead, he plopped angrily down onto the couch.

Meanwhile, Castiel had stepped out of the room for no more than a few seconds before coming back, perfectly composed and fully dressed, trench coat and all. Castiel moved to take a seat on the ottoman facing Dean. “Dean?” he began, “I’m sorry about this. I’ve fought for my free will, and now I just took yours away. That was never my plan. It had been my hope that you would come to understand. I had planned to talk to you some more, convince you to come with me willingly. But things changed.”

“I heard Ketch was getting creative with what he was doing to you,” Dean muttered. “Truth be told, that was getting to me. I would have come to talk to you again, Cass. Coming with you willingly is a whole other thing, but looks like that’s kind of a moot point right now.” Dean spread his hands. “So why the rush? What made you decide to go all Obi-Wan Kenobi on everyone and grab me anyway?”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“Point remains. Why?”

“Samandriel.” Castiel looked down, shifting a bit on the ottoman. “What I asked you to pass on to him? I had hoped that it would trigger his memories. Our history together led me to believe that, given the right phrase, a nudge in the right direction, he might understand. If he had only done as I’d hoped, we might have been able to track him down and rescue him.”

“I take it that isn’t what happened.” Dean felt cold. “What did happen? Samandriel, is he...?”

“He’s alive.”

Dean didn’t care for the unhappy look on Cass’s face. “And that’s a bad thing because...?”

“Because once his powers returned, he called out to the very same angel who was responsible for altering his memories in the first place,” Cass sighed. “He didn’t understand what I was trying to tell him, so he reverted back to standard orders. And standard orders for a captured angel are to contact the gold ranked angel who was responsible for giving those orders.”

“Who just happened to be the guy that drilled into your heads, right?” Dean guessed. “Meaning, Samandriel called the worst person he could have called, because as soon as they figure out he’s not interested in giving me to Michael, he’ll just drill into the poor guy’s head again and fuck him right back up!” Dean shook his head in disgust. “Perfect. That’s perfect, Cass. Why the hell didn’t you just tell me to have him call you?”

Cass glowered at him. “I was hardly in a position to help him.”

Dean scoffed. “You literally just proved that you could have gotten out any time you wanted!”

“And what would you have had me do, Dean?” Cass was clearly irritated now. “My charge, my mission, is to protect you. Had I gone to rescue my friend, Ketch and the rest of those angel hunters would have noticed immediately. They would have taken you, Dean, hidden you away somewhere I may never have found you.”

“So take me with you!”

That made Cass actually laugh. “You think I should have brought you right to Crowley, given the King of Hell exactly what he wanted?”

Dean flushed. “Yeah, ok, that was a stupid idea, but you could have dropped me off here, right?” He frowned, seeing the look on Cass’s face. “Sure, I would have tried to run away, but you could have, I don’t know, locked me up or something, right?”

“Dean Winchester, you have managed to avoid the forces of both Heaven and Hell for how long now?” Cass pointed out. “At this point, I don’t know that there’s a lock that can keep you in. You constantly fight to be free. It’s precisely what started all of this in the first place! And as much as that draws me to you, it’s also the reason I don’t dare let you out of my sight.”

Dean quieted. He wasn’t sure if Cass realized exactly what he’d said there, but the words made Dean’s heart beat quicker. He quickly licked his lips. “So what’s the plan, then?” he asked. “Keep me here, just like before?”

“For now.” Cass shifted, looking uncomfortable. “If Naomi does manage to recapture Samandriel? She’ll force him to lead her to you, just as Crowley was trying to do.”

Well, that didn’t sound good at all. For the first time, Dean was glad he was with Cass. Apparently reading Dean’s expression, Cass gave him a small smile. “I’ll protect you, Dean. Don’t worry.”

“How the hell does he even know where I am?”

“Because he’s no longer nameless,” Castiel explained irritably. “With his powers returned, he can sense you because you are his candidate. He can lead anyone to you, no matter where you are. Now, it’s a race to see who breaks him first, the demons, or the angels. Do you understand why I had to take you now? Why, as much as it pains me, I no longer had the option of giving you a choice?”

“Oh,” was all Dean managed to say. He swallowed hard. “So we wait?”

“We wait,” Cass confirmed. “We stay here and we wait to find out who comes first.”

“Then what?” Dean asked.

Castiel’s eyes were hard as they looked at Dean. “Then we fight,” he announced. “No matter what, we cannot let you be taken, Dean. Everything depends on it now.”


	20. Fly To The Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel rallies his forces to protect Dean as Naomi puts her plan into motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for unintentional non-con

Angel radio was both a blessing and a curse. When he was a soldier of Heaven, it was the single best way to communicate across any distance with the rest of the Host. But now, it was much like shouting across a crowded room. Whatever was sent over angel radio could be picked up by any angel listening. So Castiel listened.

The Host was busy. From what he could hear, there was a full-fledged battle going on between the Host and the forces of Hell. Samandriel had been traced back to an abandoned building, heavily warded and guarded. An entire garrison had been dispatched for the mission. Castiel wondered how many angels he considered friends were involved. Friend or not, every loss hurt. Angels were far from infinite in number. That number had not been added to since God left. Every time a celestial light was snuffed out, the universe grew just a little darker. But he had little time now to mourn that light.

Dean clearly sensed the tension. The green eyes rarely left Castiel’s face, even as the human constantly fidgeted and paced around. When he saw Castiel straighten as word traveled through angel radio, Dean froze. “It’s over,” Castiel told him. “They’ve rescued Samandriel. Just a matter of time now.”

Dean’s face paled. “W-what should we do?”

“We wait,” Castiel replied.

They waited. Dean, it appeared, was not well versed in patience. He fidgeted constantly. After a time, he got up and started pacing around. Castiel largely ignored him, focused on angel radio. It was mysteriously silent. Whatever Naomi was doing, it wasn’t being broadcast.

The time slowly ticked by. Dean fretted. Castiel listened. Finally Dean sat back down, put his head in his hands and groaned. “I’m going to lose my mind,” he announced. “You think Michael will still want me when I’m batshit crazy?”

“Dean.” Castiel got up, taking Dean’s arms. “I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said. His lower lip trembled slightly. “That’s precisely how Samandriel got captured in the first place. And look at how well that turned out?”

Castiel cocked his head and squinted at Dean, confused. “Dean, are you worried about me?”

“Yes!” Dean’s fists were clenched, his chest heaving as he breathed through his teeth. “Cas, you’re looking at heavenly prisons or smiting or having your brain drilled into, all because of me! I’m not worth it, ok? I lost Samandriel already. I can’t lose you, too.”

Something stirred in Castiel. He moved closer, hands moving up to rest on either side of Dean’s face. “You could never lose me,” he vowed. “Even if I’m destroyed and sent to the Empty, part of me will always be with you.”

Castiel had been watching humanity since the dawn of time. He’d seen the best and worst it had to offer. Humanity was capable of acts of supreme evil and great kindness, unimaginable hate and the deepest love. He’d seen kingdoms rise and fall. He was present at the fall of Troy and knew the lengths that humans would go to in order to secure a desirable mate. He’d certainly seen humans kissing. It wasn’t something that had ever interested him. Mostly, it looked messy, this swapping of saliva and oral bacteria. Little wonder humans suffered plagues.

He’d never stopped to wonder why they did it.

Dean’s kiss was like nothing any of his experiences had prepared him for. In one moment, the two of them were joined. Once again, Castiel could feel it, that reaction between them. His Grace surged towards Dean’s soul, feeling that soul reaching out for him in return. Everywhere they touched, the press of their bodies, the arms wrapped around each other, and especially their mouths, there was a joining. It felt _right,_ like something he’d been searching for since his creation was finally here, right where it had been meant to be all along. Castiel’s arms held Dean as tightly as he could without hurting the human. He kissed and kissed, hungry for more, until Dean finally gasped and turned his head away, panting for air. “Cass! Gotta let me breathe, man!”

Castiel reluctantly loosened his grip. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Dean’s face. Dean was flushed, lips kiss swollen and open as he panted. The green eyes were wide and blown. They closed, lashes resting against freckled cheeks. Dean’s hands were on Castiel’s chest. They pushed weakly. “Let me go, ok? I can’t... I’m not... I totally was not ready for that. Won’t happen again.”

“What?”

“Just let me go. Please.”

Dean was twisting in his arms, turning his body away from Castiel. One hand continued to push at Castiel’s chest, the other was trying to pry the angel’s hands away. “No!” Castiel pulled Dean back, drawing the human against his chest. “No, I want more.”

“Yeah, well, buy me dinner first.” Dean had gone tense in Castiel’s arms, still trying to pull free. The incredible feeling of joining was gone. In its place was stiff resistance. “Let go, dammit!”

“Dean, why are you fighting?”

Castiel tried to kiss Dean, only to have the human twist his head away. “No, Cass, stop it!”

Well, that wasn’t an answer. He couldn’t understand what was wrong, why that feeling had gone away. Maybe it was the actual kiss? If Dean would just let himself be kissed, perhaps the joining would happen again? But Dean was still fighting, keeping his face turned away. Frowning, Castiel caught Dean’s short hair, used it to hold him still and pressed their mouths together.

“Mmmph!” Fists pounded at Castiel’s chest. A booted foot stomped on his foot, then kicked him in the shins. Worse, there was no joining. Dean’s soul seemed farther away than ever. When Dean bit down on his lip, Castiel pulled away.

Dean’s face was still flushed, but now it was with anger. His fists were flying, back arched as he strained to pull away. “Let the fuck go of me! I said no, you son of a bitch!”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t fucking understand. Stupid fucking angels never understand! No means no, don’t you get it?!” Dean strained hard, pushing at Castiel’s shoulders as he tried to wrench himself free. “You’re so full of shit, Cass! You get all uppity and holier than thou about free will, then you drag me away and try to force me into making out with you? How the hell does that make you any better than Michael?”

It hit Castiel harder than any blow Dean had given him. With a gasp, he let go. He barely noticed Dean stumble, regain his balance, and move swiftly away, putting the sofa between the two of them. His entire being recoiled, revolted by his own actions. “Dean,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry! There are no words. That joining the first time we kissed, I wanted more of it, but I had no right to try to force you.”

Dean eyed him, trembling as he stood behind the sofa. His body was tense, ready for fight or flight. Without taking his eyes off of Castiel, he dragged his sleeve over his mouth. The action spoke volumes.

Castiel sagged, nodded. “I’m sorry. I still don’t understand why you don’t want more of what we shared, but I will respect your decision.”

That seemed to take some of the fight out of Dean’s eyes. He nodded. “Thanks. Look, it’s not that I didn’t enjoy it, at least the first one. It’s just, what you said? About soulmates?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not real happy with the idea that my choices have already been made for me. That’s what Michael did, choosing me to be his vessel without caring what I might think of it. Now everyone’s fighting over me, and it feels like I have no choices at all. Can I at least have this one?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, dejected. He sank into a chair, feeling miserable.

Dean shifted. His eyes flickered around, considering his options. With a sigh, he came around and sat on the sofa, facing Castiel. “Cass,” he began, “I’m not entirely sure who initiated that first kiss. And what happened then was, wow. Never had a kiss like that in my life, you know? Granted, I’ve never really kissed an angel before, but I suspect it was more from that soulmate thing, right? Maybe what we’re having here is just a kind of culture clash? Maybe, in Heaven, what happened when we kissed means we’re angel married or something, I don’t know. But humans don’t work that way, ok? Just because I enjoyed something once doesn’t give you permission to do it again anytime you want.”

“I understand that,” Castiel grumped. He was feeling exceptionally disgruntled.

“Good, Cass, that’s good,” Dean encouraged. “Because there’s a reason I said no. That reason is, I barely even know you, dude. Yeah, I’m drawn to you, but that isn’t anything to do with me. If it wasn’t for the soulmate effect, I never in a million years would have kissed you.”

“If it wasn’t for the ‘soulmate effect,’ I wouldn’t have allowed myself to be taken,” Castiel pointed out, still feeling sour.

“I get that, but hear me out,” Dean pleaded. “My point is, if we’re going to explore this, whatever it is? We need to take it way slower. I don’t know how I actually feel about you, Cass. So far, what you’re trying to do is pretty awesome, sure, but at the same time, I refuse to just run in the hamster wheel, feeling like I’m getting somewhere when all I’m doing is just following this predestined path. I want, if there’s going to be something between us, if that’s even possible for a human and an angel to even _have_ something? For it to be real. And that means we take it slow, explore it the same way we would if we were both just regular guys with a regular, non-supernatural attraction.”

Castiel tilted his head again. “You want... a courtship?”

Dean ducked his head, looking flustered. “I... Well... When you put it like that, I mean...” He shook his head. “Yeah. I guess I do. I want to get to know you. What if we don’t even like each other? I mean, you’re an angel, and I’m a human. How much can we possibly have in common?”

“I see. That’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” Dean scowled. “What, unfortunate that I don’t want to just ride the whole ‘soulmates’ vibe to happily ever after?”

“No,” Castiel corrected, “unfortunate that you want to get to know me.”

“What’s so unfortunate about that?”

“Because if the angels currently fighting our guards have their way, we’ll have little time for that to happen,” Castiel pointed out.

Dean, it seemed, had somehow managed to forget all about the coming attack. In truth, Castiel himself had nearly forgotten it. But when the fighting started outside, the reality of their situation became all too clear. Both men got to their feet. “What do I do?” Dean asked.

Castiel brought his angel blade to his hand. “Stay close,” he warned. “We were prepared for this, but anything could happen.”

Dean scurried to a position just behind Castiel. Not a moment too soon. Naomi and Hael flew into the room and stood facing Castiel. Castiel raised his blade in warning. Hael quickly drew her blade, but Naomi only laughed. “Really, Castiel? You really think you can fight us, you and four copper-level angels? As we speak, Uriel and Balthazar are capturing your angels outside. Two silver level angels, a copper level, and myself against you and four copper levels? You don’t stand a chance.”

“Give me the candidate,” Hael ordered. Her eyes were fixed greedily on Dean. “Give him to me, Castiel!”

“Hael!” Naomi’s voice was enough to halt Hael, but she didn’t look at the copper angel. Her eyes were locked with Castiel’s. She reached out a hand towards him. “Come home, Castiel. There’s nothing for you here.”

“You’re wrong,” Castiel growled. “Now, more than ever, I know just how much this world holds for me.”

She shook her head, never losing her smile. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Actually, you made the mistake,” Castiel told her. “A big one!”

In a rustle of wings, Balthazar and Uriel appeared, weapons in hand. At first, Naomi only glanced at them. But her smile quickly faded when they moved menacingly towards her. “Give up now, Naomi,” Castiel ordered. “I have no desire for any more angels to lose their lives today.”

Naomi’s eyes were like twin flames, boring into Castiel. “You’re a fool if you think this changes anything,” she spat. 

“I’m aware,” Castiel replied. “I know full well that I’ve just taken another shot in a war. But you’ve lost this battle.”

Namoi drew herself up to her full height. “Very well! I will retreat for now, but don’t think for one moment that I won’t be back!”

“Let them go,” Castiel called as Naomi and Hael flew off. “We can’t hold an angel of Naomi’s level. Bartholomew?”

“She gave him some mysterious mission. He didn’t come with us.” Uriel looked hopefully at Castiel. “It’s true, then? The four really exist?”

“Yes,” Castiel assured him. “It’s true.”

“So, it’s over?” Dean asked anxiously. “I have to say, I’m glad, but at the same time I’m almost a little disappointed! I was expecting some big angel battle.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Balthazar soothed. “That’s coming. Not looking forward to it, either. I would have hoped things would have been a little farther along, specifically numbers-wise.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised Naomi gave in that easily,” Uriel remarked. “Even facing all of us, I would have expected her to fight a bit more. She knows what Michael’s going to do to her if she fails.”

Balthazar shrugged. “Even she knows when she’s outmatched. I suspect she’ll go running straight to Michael, start organizing an attack. So don’t worry, Mr. Winchester. Your big angel battle is sure to come soon.”

“I take it back,” Dean shuddered. “I’m not disappointed after all. Say, what’s this four thing anyway?”

Castiel hesitated. “Dean, let me speak with my friends a moment first,” he said. “Go and get anything you might need packed so we can leave quickly. Later, when we’re safe, I’ll explain everything.”

Dean obviously wasn’t happy about that answer, but for once, he didn’t argue. He raised his hands instead. “Fine. I’ll go do something human-y while the angels talk about grown-up stuff.” He turned and headed up the stairs. Somehow, even his footsteps sounded irritated.

Balthazar tsked. “He doesn’t know anything, does he?”

“Never mind him,” Uriel insisted. “It’s not a human I’m interested in! Castiel, how could you keep something this big under wraps? Don’t you know what this means to Heaven?”

“Yes, I do,” Castiel sighed. “But it’s not my decision to make. Where’s Samandriel?”

“Naomi snatched him up as soon as he was back in Heaven,” Balthazar replied. “He’s out of our reach for now.”

Castiel grimaced. “I expected as much, but I’d hoped to have better news.”

“Castiel, you are unbelievable.” Uriel shook his head. “All this time, you let everyone believe that you were calling the shots. You took all the risk, focused everyone’s attention on you. And never once did you ever let on that you were only following orders, that you were taking all the heat for something so much bigger than yourself? You’re a damned fool, my friend.”

Castiel chuckled. “Hardly the first time I’ve heard that. We should...”

_Castiel!_

Castiel gasped. “Dean!”

Castiel raced upstairs as fast as his wings could carry him, but there was no sign of Dean. He checked the entire house, the grounds, and the surrounding area. He could sense Uriel and Balthazar doing the same, searching for any sign of the missing human. But even as he searched, Castiel knew the truth.

The words echoed along angel radio: _Dean Winchester has been saved!_

****

When Dean had seen the angel waiting for him upstairs, he’d been shocked. He’d rushed towards the battered figure, seeing only the blood that still covered Samandriel’s face and body. “Samandriel? Holy shit! Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better,” Samandriel replied. He seemed somewhat surprised to be glomped by Dean, unsure of how to respond. His arms went around the human gingerly. “I’m more concerned about you, Dean. Crowley tortured me to try to find out where you were, how he could find you. When you restored my name, I had to pretend nothing happened so he didn’t find out the truth. But someone took you anyway.”

“I’m ok. Now you’re here, I’m great!” Dean released the angel reluctantly. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

But Samandriel was shaking his head. “No, Dean. I’m still hidden, but you’re in danger here.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Dean grumbled. “Not really looking forward to the idea of an angel war.”

“It’s alright.” Samandriel took Dean’s hand, clasping it tightly in both of his.

“You know, the least those dicks could have done was heal you up a bit,” Dean complained, eyes moving over the assortment of wounds.

Samandriel shrugged. “They healed me enough. All I have to be able to do right now is fly.” His grip on Dean tightened. “I’m sorry, Dean. But this is the only way to protect you.”

Dean realized something. He really, really hated flying with angels. Along with the disorientation, the experience was causing havoc with his bowels. Flying with Samandriel now was the worst experience yet. He felt like he’d been dragged at supersonic speed through the worst turbulence ever. Samandriel apparently got the worst of it, though. The angel collapsed the moment they landed. Dean swore, wobbled, and looked around.

He was standing in a beautiful room. Everywhere he looked, he saw something that probably cost a fortune. Dean’s eyes rested for a moment on a large harp, appreciating the irony. Then he frowned. “Where are we?”

“It’s a kind of green room,” Samandriel explained. For some reason, the angel looked stricken. He sank into one of the chairs at the table and cradled his head in his hands.

“Finally!”

Dean turned and saw the female angel who’d demanded Cass turn him over standing uncomfortably close. She seized his arm in a painful grip, yanking him even closer. “You should have been assigned to me from the start,” she told Dean. “Samandriel! Give him to me, now!”

“Hael!”

It was the bitchy lady angel from before. She was standing next to some blonde dude with a smarmy smirk that Dean immediately felt like slapping off of his face. He was eyeing Dean up like a piece of meat while the lady, Dean remembered Cass calling her Naomi, frowned at Hael. “We discussed this, Hael,” she reminded. “Our brother needs time to recover from his ordeal. Let him rest and replenish his Grace. Bartholomew will guard them until Samandriel is strong enough to transfer the candidate to you. Then you will give him to Michael.”

“The hell you will!” Dean tried to twist his arm free, looking back to Samandriel. “Samandriel? What the hell is going on, buddy?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Samandriel replied, not lifting his head. “It’s like I said. This is the only way to protect you.”

“I’ll inform Michael of our success,” Naomi was saying. “Hael, why don’t you come with me?”

Hael paused, still holding on to a struggling Dean. “But Naomi, don’t you think I should stay here with my candidate? That way, as soon as Samandriel’s strong enough, I can...”

“Now, Hael!”

“Seriously, Hael, do get lost?” Bartholomew sighed. “The stench of your ambition is starting to become nauseating. Leave our brother to heal without your constant irritation.”

Hael scowled, releasing Dean. She glared at Samandriel, who completely ignored her, and moved to Naomi’s side. Then they both vanished.

Dean looked frantically around, seeing no windows, no door, no visible way out of the room. Apparently, he was well and truly trapped. He grasped Samandriel’s shoulder, his eyes on Bartholomew as the other angel relaxed into a chair. “Samandriel? Come on, man, this isn’t funny!”

“Relax, candidate,” Bartholomew called. “We’ve provided you with your favorite food and beverages. Eat, drink, and rejoice! Very soon now, your moment will come.”


	21. Torn and Frayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayed and trapped, Dean is desperate to escape before he's given to Michael

Dean wasn’t sure what to do. Part of him wanted to yell at Bartholomew to heal Samandriel of his painful wounds. The angel was covered in cuts, bruises, and abrasions that betrayed what he’d gone through. But at the same time, if Bartholomew healed him, wouldn’t Samandriel get his strength back faster, and thus send Dean to his fate that much sooner? Just how much mojo did it take to sign him over to Hael? Seeing as it was apparently Samandriel’s main job, Dean was willing to bet it was quite a bit. Enough, at least, that the angels saw fit to make this room to keep him in while Samandriel recovered. So Dean stayed quiet and instead opted for taking napkins from the burger table, filling them with ice to press to Samandriel’s bruises, and using another napkin dipped in melted ice water to clean up some of the blood that covered his friend’s face.

“You should eat or drink, Dean,” Samandriel offered, holding the ice to his face. “It would be your favorite versions of the food, not just the food itself.”

“I saw that,” Dean replied, dabbing more blood away from Samandriel’s eye. “But no thanks. I remember what happened to Persephone.”

Samandriel chuckled. “That was a long time ago. Besides, you’re not dead. This can’t harm you.”

“Nothing here will harm you,” Bartholomew agreed. “Quite the opposite, in fact. You’ll be kept perfectly safe until Michael comes for you.”

Dean ignored him. Putting his back to Bartholomew, Dean scooted closer to Samandriel, continuing his work. Up close, his friend looked even worse without the blood. His face had clearly been used as a punching bag. The odd holes in his skull, holes that looked painfully deep, were even worse. It broke Dean’s heart a bit. Samandriel was an angel who may have been billions of years old, but Dean couldn’t look past the fact that the face in front of him was that of a badly-beaten young man near Sammy’s age. Cleaning off the blood revealed bruises old and new. It made Dean’s stomach roll. “Hey, um, what about you? Are you hungry, buddy? I can get you some of those burgers?”

“Since you restored my name, my powers have been returning,” Samandriel reminded. “I no longer require sustenance, Dean.” He managed a small, painful smile as Dean grimaced. “Thank you for offering, though. It was kind of you to think of me like that.”

“Right.” Dean leaned in, lowering his voice to speak to his friend. “Samandriel, I prayed to you.”

“I know. Even in my weakened state, I heard you.” Once again, the slight, battered smile appeared. “That gave me hope, and the strength to get myself to a point where I could call for help.”

“Yeah, but you called the wrong people for help!”

Dean glanced back, noticed that Bartholomew had wondered closer to eavesdrop, and gave him the finger. “Hey dickhead, is there any version of this universe in some alternate reality where you’d be even remotely welcomed to join in our conversation? How about fucking off to there?”

“What are you whispering about?” Bartholomew demanded. “Tell me!”

“I’m telling my friend how awesome he is,” Dean replied. “Samandriel got tortured by the best the King of Hell had to offer and never broke. This guy here?” He jerked a thumb towards Samandriel, who remained quiet. “He’s got integrity and balls, two things you completely lack. Go away and find something else to do.”

Bartholomew frowned. “What would you suggest?”

“Maybe beat off?” Dean offered. “That is, if you have a dick?”

That made Bartholomew grimace in disgust. “Humans are such filthy creatures,” he spat. “I’m glad my rank is high enough that I’m spared having to deal with you too often.” His eyes moved past Dean to fix on Samandriel. “Of course, assuming Michael doesn’t smite you as soon as he’s taken his new vessel, which is most likely, you’ll be left for me. So, I suppose you won’t have to deal with their kind anymore, either.”

Samandriel flinched. Dean growled and moved to block Bartholomew’s view of his friend. “Hey Bart,” he called, “if you farted out that tight ass of yours, would a dog be able to hear it?”

Bartholomew stomped away.

Victorious, Dean turned back to Samandriel, only to wince at his friend’s frown of disapproval. Dean shrugged. “He gets on my nerves.”

“To be honest, you’re not alone,” Samandriel admitted quietly. “I don’t gossip much with other angels, but I don’t think Bartholomew is that popular. He tends to curry favour from those in power while dismissing those he sees as beneath him or not of use. I personally always thought he was too much of a toady for me to want to get close to him.” He looked down. “Not that he’d be interested in talking to me. Silver angels like him tend to consider standard and copper class angels below them. Which, of course, we are.”

“No, you’re not,” Dean corrected. “I don’t care what rank you hold.” He hesitated, then focused. _Samandriel, if I pray to you, can he hear it?_

Samandriel’s eyebrow raised in surprise, but he shook his head.

_Good,_ Dean sent. _Because Bart the Fart wouldn’t last one minute going through the shit you suffered. He couldn’t hold a candle to you. You’re brave, and kind, and generous. You’re selfless and put others above yourself because that’s the kind of person, er, angel, you are. You’re worth about three or four of that asshole. So he can take his silver attitude and shove it where the sun don’t shine._

Samandriel drooped in his chair. “I’m surprised to hear you defend me, Dean,” he admitted, keeping his voice so low Dean had to strain to hear. “I knew you would be upset that I took you again, gave you to my superiors to be delivered to Michael. But I couldn’t let Crowley have you. I was terrified he’d break me. He came so close! And if I told him how to find you...?”

_I get it._ Dean sighed. _I’ll admit, I’m not exactly thrilled about this whole thing. Kind of hoping I can change your mind about handing me over to Michael?_

The angel seemed to shrink. “I don’t know that I have any choice, Dean. Something’s different. When I called to Naomi for help, I still thought there might be another way. But now, I can’t think of anything but giving you to Michael.”

“Why?” Dean asked. “If you thought of another way before, what’s changed now?”

“I don’t know,” Samandriel admitted. “You’re claimed. I marked you for Michael, and nothing short of death is going to change that. While I know my own is coming...”

_Not if I can help it!_

Samandriel sighed. “My time is over. I’ve accepted that. The only thing left for me is to regain enough of my Grace to be able to sign you over to Hael. After that, I have no doubt that I’ll be destroyed.”

_So don’t do it!_ Dean sent, desperate.

“If I refuse, they’ll just kill me, and Hael will take you anyway,” Samandriel explained. “I’m sorry. I know you said before that you felt being taken as Michael’s vessel would be worse than death for you. Maybe that’s true. But if the alternative is an eternity in Hell?”

_Maybe there’s still a third option?_ Dean offered.

Samandriel tilted his head and squinted at Dean. “What do you mean?”

_What about what I prayed to you? Think about it,_ Dean urged. _Castiel really thought it would mean something to you, break through your programming._

The squint grew tighter. “Programming?”

Dean groaned. _You really don’t remember, do you, buddy? Castiel told me what really happened, why he left you his trench coat._

Now Samandriel was frowning in confusion. “I told you that, Dean. I betrayed him.”

_No, you didn’t! You never betrayed him, buddy. You figured out the truth, and helped him understand it, too._

“The truth?” Samandriel echoed. “I don’t understand.”

_The gold angels,_ Dean explained. He gently touched one of the holes in Samandriel’s head, wincing as the angel did. _You figured out that those bastards have been literally drilling into your heads, altering your memories and reprogramming you into obedient drones. You told him and that’s why he left, but not before they caught you and drilled into your head again, made you believe you’d betrayed him._ Dean eyed the marks on the angel’s head. _Kind of looks like it happened again, to be honest. Think maybe that’s why you can’t remember wanting something different?_

Samandriel had an odd look on his face now. “The demons did this. They... they used spikes. They shoved them into my head, into my celestial being, to block my connection to the other angels so I couldn’t call for help,” he recalled. “But there was something almost familiar about it. Then, when you mentioned the four?”

Dean nodded. “Yes!” he exclaimed, speaking aloud in his excitement. “That’s what...”

Dean sat back, took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “Seriously, Bart, is there something you need? A good swift kick in the ass, maybe?”

“I dislike the fact that you’re speaking together like this, so that I can’t hear what you’re saying,” Bartholomew complained. “What is it that you’re talking about? What don’t you want me to hear?”

“We’re talking about your mom,” Dean told him. “She says she only dropped you twice. It’s not her fault you turned out to be such a bitch.”

“I don’t have a mother,” Bartholomew told him, confused. “I’m an angel.”

“Flutter off, then, would you?” Dean irritably shooed him away. “Why is it so hard for you to figure out that you are not invited to this conversation? Look, there’s a harp over there. Go play it.”

Bartholomew looked at the harp, and then turned back to Dean. “I don’t know how to play that instrument.”

“Just go away, Bart!” Dean groaned. “This room isn’t that small, that you have to be right up our asses.”

Bart’s face flushed. Once more, he stomped away. To Dean’s amusement, the sullen angel actually did sit down at the harp, where he began to pluck absently at the strings.

Turning back to Samandriel, Dean put a hand on his shoulder. _Think,_ he urged. _Whatever this four thing is? It’s gotta be important. It sure impressed the hell out of that Uriel guy._

“Uriel?” Samandriel looked up in surprise. “Uriel has joined forces with Castiel?”

_Yeah, him and some other angel called Balthazar_. Dean shook his head. _Is it any wonder I forgot your name? Seriously, you guys all have the weirdest names!_

“Balthazar and Uriel?” Samandriel whispered. He looked a bit dazed. “Those are two of the most important silver level angels in Heaven!”

_Yeah, well, now they’re with Cass,_ Dean reported smugly.

“But why?” Samandriel wanted to know. “Why would they turn on Heaven to follow Castiel?”

Dean reached over and gently tapped on Samandriel’s head. _The answer’s in there. What went through this blonde noggin of yours when I mentioned the four?_

The angel shuddered. His hands gripped tightly to the table, causing it to shake slightly. The movement was enough to make the melting ice in the bucket rattle softly. “I s-saw an image. Castiel, I believe. It looked like his trench coat, and he always wore it before he gave it to me. I saw him strapped down. He was having his head drilled into.”

_There you go! Now you know where that came from!_ Dean gave his friend’s shoulder an excited shake. _You’re remembering now. Come on, keep going. What’s so big about four?_

Samandriel frowned, deep in thought.

A small yet powerful hand seized Dean’s wrist where it rested on the table, pulling Dean to his feet. Dean turned to see Hael smiling at him. “It’s time,” she announced excitedly. “Samandriel, your Grace should be back enough by now. Give him to me. Quickly, Michael anxiously awaits his vessel.”

“No!” To Dean’s horror, Samandriel grimaced, nodded, and got to his feet. The blue eyes were dull as he reached for Dean, taking his arm from Hael.

Dean strained, twisting away as hard as he could, only to be dragged back closer. “Samandriel, don’t. Please don’t? Cass is on to something. You know he is, otherwise those other angels wouldn’t go with him, right? Please don’t do this to me!”

“I have no choice,” Samandriel replied robotically. “I’m an angel, Dean. I was created to obey. This is my final act.” He pushed Dean’s sleeve back, revealing the scars.

“You have a choice!” Dean cried, desperately struggling. “These bastards are going to kill you anyway, so why not find out what Cass has to say first? It’s not like they can kill you twice! Please!”

Samandriel’s eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. His hand rested on the scars on Dean’s arm.

Desperate, Dean threw his free arm around the angel’s neck. _Please,_ he prayed. _Please, Samandriel. If you can’t stop this, then just kill me, ok? Smite me before they can take me away. I’d rather die than be Michael’s vessel, and I want it to be you_. He buried his face in the angel’s shoulder. _Please._

Samandriel froze.

“Samandriel!” Hael shrieked. “What are you waiting for? Sign him over to me! Now!”

“Do it, Samandriel,” Bartholomew warned. “I was looking forward to killing you. I’m just as happy to do it right here and now, and have another copper level sign Hael onto the candidate that way.”

“Dean,” Samandriel whispered.

_Please,_ Dean pleaded. _He’s going to kill you no matter what. I want to go with you. If you can’t keep from giving me over, then kill me. I’m begging you, ok?_

“Alright.”

Samandriel’s arm went around Dean. Dean breathed deeply. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Of course, Dean.”

Disorientation. Dean’s stomach seemed to lurch, as if he’d eaten a large lunch and then gone on a high-speed roller coaster. But the coaster itself seemed to have derailed. Dean felt as though he somehow bounced, like he’d been jolted down a road riddled with potholes. His body felt battered. His head spun.

Then something solid slammed into him. Dean cried out in pain, feeling himself rolling along. Samandriel was still clinging to him, holding Dean tightly against him as they rolled to a stop.

Dazed, Dean looked up. They were lying on the ground in an open, grassy field that seemed oddly familiar. Looking down revealed Samandriel. The angel had gone limp, limbs falling to his sides as he whimpered on the ground. “Hey,” Dean called. “You ok?”

Samandriel made a noise in reply.

Dean climbed off of his friend, got to his feet, and helped the angel up. “Whoa,” he cautioned, steadying Samandriel as the angel swayed. “Did you seriously just fly us out of there, right under the noses of Bart and Ms. Grabby?”

“Yes,” Samandriel hissed between his teeth. “You asked me to take you with me, and I did.”

“I thought we were both about to die,” Dean marveled. “You flew us out instead?”

The angel nodded. “They tried very hard to prevent me from leaving. It took everything I had to get away.”

“It kind of felt that way,” Dean grumbled, rubbing at a lump. “You gonna pass out on me?”

“Maybe?” Samandriel already had his eyes closed.

“Where the hell did you bring us?” Dean looked and stiffened, seeing a rounded portion of burned grass. “Oh, you have got to be shitting me right now! You brought us right back to that same field you took me to the first time?!”

“I didn’t have time to plot a better location,” Samandriel grumbled. “I had to get away quickly. This was the first place I thought to go. No one knows about it, Dean. We’re both still protected, so they can’t find us. Not right away, anyway. But you can be certain we are being hunted.” He leveled a look at Dean. “If you wish to call Castiel? Now would be the time.”

Dean sucked in his breath. He nodded, closed his eyes, and turned his face towards the sky. He knew perfectly well that Castiel wasn’t in Heaven, but he wasn’t exactly accustomed to this sort of thing. He doubted Castiel would judge him anyway. “Castiel, angel of the Lord,” he intoned, “I pray for you to get your feathered ass over here.”

Samandriel sputtered.

Dean ignored him. “Come on, Cass, don’t be a dick!”

“Really?!” Samandriel exclaimed, abashed. “ _That’s_ the way you pray to him? It’s a wonder he didn’t smite you!”

“I assure you, it has been tempting on several occasions,” came a familiar gravelly voice. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean felt like fainting in relief. “Cass,” he moaned. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you!”

Castiel stood, familiar trench coat rustling slightly in the breeze, and shook his head. “Dean Winchester,” he announced, “you have certainly stirred things up now!”


	22. The Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally learns what Castiel and his allies have really been up to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

Cass’s Super-Secret Angel Hideout turned out to be a boring high-rise apartment building in the middle of a bustling downtown. In retrospect, Dean probably should have known. Cass had a thing for old houses and barns, after all. Why not a high-rise? People, most likely angels, were milling about. They all nodded to Cass as they approached. Dean eyed the building, wondering how many angels it actually contained? Probably a lot, if this was Cass’s main headquarters.

Uriel was pacing around impatiently outside when they arrived. His stern face broke into a smile that Dean would have questioned existing if he hadn’t seen it. “Castiel! You’re back! And you’ve got them both?”

“Of course,” Cass grumbled, sounding insulted. “I told you not to count them out. As soon as Dean prayed to me, I was able to pinpoint their location.”

The other angel nodded at Dean, before turning his attention to Samandriel. He winced in sympathy. “The King of Hell did a number on you, brother. Of course, you wouldn’t look much better under Naomi’s tender ministrations. Or maybe she’s already had her chance?” His finger gingerly touched the wound in Samandriel’s skull.

Samandriel ducked away. “This was Crowley. Naomi wouldn’t... She couldn’t...” He shook his head. “Why? What possible reason could she have for doing something like this?”

“Control,” Cass explained. “You’ve been through her special brand of repair work more than most, Samandriel. Because you kept remembering.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’d hoped you would remember once more.”

“Remember what?” Dean wanted to know. “What is this ‘The Four’ thing that’s got everyone so excited?” Even in Dean’s head, he heard the capital letters.

Uriel put an arm around Samandriel and looked at Cass. “I’ll get him healed up,” he offered. “Why don’t you fill in Winchester?”

“I’ll do one better.” Cass motioned Dean to come with him, his eyes lingering on Samandriel. “Uriel, once he’s ready?”

“I’ll bring him,” Uriel promised. He started leading Samandriel into the building.

Dean smiled at his friend and then quickly followed after Cass. “Hey, thanks,” he called. “For saving us.”

“You knew I would come,” Cass grumbled, leading the way into the building. “The way you prayed to me is evidence enough of that.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry? I just never was good at the whole reverence thing, and seeing as how it’s you, and, you know, we know each other?” He chuckled. “You should have seen the look on Samandriel’s face, though. Totally worth it.”

Cass didn’t bother responding to that. He climbed the stairs, moving upward at a steady pace. “How much do you know about how Heaven is run, Dean?” he called.

Dean followed, wishing he’d done a bit less driving and a bit more stair exercises. He was going to get winded fast at this rate. “Not much,” he replied. “Michael’s in charge, Raphael’s his second in command, and Lucifer’s in Detroit, wearing my brother like a fur coat. Before that, he was second in command after Michael. But now he’s busy on Earth, doing the shit he’s doing.” He paused for a minute, trying to catch his breath. “I know now that it’s because your boys upstairs didn’t want Luci running around downtown. And that’s why Michael wants me, to go smack some sense into the guy.”

“That is more or less accurate,” Cass confirmed. “The archangels once ruled Heaven jointly. Michael didn’t take charge until after our Father left us. Raphael was happy enough to follow orders, as he’d always done. Lucifer was, shall we say, less inclined?”

“Which is why Michael booted his ass to Hell.” Dean was definitely getting winded now. He hoped that they’d get wherever they were going soon. Why Cass didn’t take the elevator was beyond him.

“Yes, and that’s all anyone knows about the archangels, isn’t it?”

It took Dean a moment to realize Cass had stopped and was waiting for a reply. He blinked in surprise, seeing a pair of serious blue eyes scrutinizing him. “Um, yeah, I guess?” he stammered. “Just three ultra-powerful dudes with daddy issues, pushing everyone else around. My family’s a little less fond of them than most, but that’s about it.”

Cass nodded, his expression serious. “That’s precisely what Heaven wants you to believe, Dean.” To Dean’s relief, he’d stopped climbing stairs. Now he was pushing through a door and into a hall. “We went to a great deal of trouble to make sure you did. It’s the single biggest reason that we took away anything and everything relating to angels, from Enochian tomes to holy books to paintings and statues. Your generation was raised in this new world we created for you.”

“Yeah, believe me, we know all about the knowledge purge,” Dean grumbled. “It’s precisely why we have so much trouble fighting you feathered dicks! The strongest wards we had obviously weren’t strong enough to block your powers, Cass.”

Cass hesitated. “Actually, they were,” he admitted.

Dean blinked in surprise. “Uh, what?”

“The wards I was surrounded with, and those on the chains that held me?” Cass clarified. “They were strong enough to hold me. I was trapped, helpless. My powers were locked down. That’s why I couldn’t get away. I needed you to let me go.”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, I get that you couldn’t mojo your way out of those cuffs. But that whole illusion thing you did? The wards didn’t do a thing to stop that!”

“You misunderstand,” Cass explained. “The wards were enough to stop me. But I wasn’t the one who made the illusions, or gave you the key.”

That made no sense at all. “Cass, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m not what you and your friends believe I am.” Cass had started forward again, only to stop in front of a closed door. “Ketch and those with him call me the Trickster. They believe that I am the leader of this group of rebel angels. And that is precisely what we wanted.”

Dean shook his head. “I am completely confused,” he admitted. “Cass, you’re going to have to back up and start over from the beginning.”

Castiel nodded. “As you wish. You know, I was not the first to fall from Heaven,” he explained.

“Yeah, that was Anna, right?”

“Wrong.”

Dean scrunched up his face in thought. “Oh, Lucifer, right?”

“No. Lucifer was thrown out of Heaven. It’s only recently that he took a vessel and made his home on Earth.”

Dean spread his hands. “Ok, I give up. Who was it?”

“The first to fall was the messenger of God,” Cass told him. He’d crossed his arms over his chest and taken up a teaching pose that amused Dean even as his words confused him. “As the appointed messenger, he had a lot of contact with humanity. And over time, that contact changed him. He saw how humans lived, loved, fought and died. He saw the effects, both good and bad, of free will. Then he would return and see his fellow angels squabbling. He was the first to know when our Father grew disgusted with our fighting amongst ourselves and left. And he was the first to follow.”

“So, this angel went with God?”

“No,” Cass corrected. “No one knows where God is.”

“So then where’d the angel go?”

“Earth,” Cass said. “Here, in fact.” He indicated the door. “He’s inside, waiting to meet you, but I wanted you to understand some things first. You see, behind this door is the true leader of our rebellion. Since he fell to Earth, he’s been working quietly, sabotaging Heaven’s efforts to rule the Earth, gathering others to his banner, and seeking to ultimately overthrow the yoke of Heaven entirely. He believes that mankind should be free. Those of us who follow him believe the same. This, Dean, is what this is all about.”

“Wait,” Dean called, raising a hand. “I’m confused. If this guy’s in charge, then why’s everyone after your head?”

“I volunteered.”

“You what?!”

“I volunteered,” Cass repeated. “Anna proved that every time an angel stood up to Heaven, Heaven was quick to strike them down. To date, her rebellion was the biggest ever. Until now. But without our leader, our movement couldn’t survive. The cause is greater than any one angel. Someone had to be the face of it. Heaven needed someone to blame, someone who would bear the full wrath of the archangels if something went wrong, so that our true leader could live to start anew.”

“Hold it!” Dean shook his head. “Cass, you’re putting your own neck out for a cause you’re not even the head of? Just to save this other guy?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Castiel’s voice, only calm surety. “He does protect me as much as he can, but only when I ask it. That’s why he let me be captured until I asked for help. I chose to face the worst the Host could do, so that our leader could stay hidden and go on.”

“So, you’re not really the Trickster?”

“As far as anyone knows, I am.” Cass jerked his head towards the door. “The Trickster is a name our leader had for many, many years in his time in hiding on the Earth. When the name resurfaced, I was quick to claim it, in order to draw attention from him.”

“But you’re not him.”

“No, Dean, I’m not.”

“And the real Trickster, the guy in there?” Dean gestured towards the door. “He’s the one who did all the hocus pocus back at the bunker?”

“He is,” Cass confirmed.

“But he gets to hide away while you take all the risk?” Dean shook his head, disgusted. “That’s bullshit, Cass. Complete and utter bullshit.”

“I disagree,” Cass replied calmly. “Perhaps, after you speak with him, you’ll understand why it’s so important to protect him, no matter the cost.”

Dean doubted that very highly. What Cass was doing was one step above the Secret Service, willing to take a bullet for the President. Dean had to admit, Cass playing decoy the way he was had to be the best protection this Trickster guy could get. But what kind of asshole could stand back and let someone else take that sort of risk for him? Dean’s respect for Castiel was at an all-time high. Meanwhile, he was fully prepared to hate the real Trickster.

Cass knocked on the door, was greeted with a loud “Door’s unlocked!” from inside, and opened the door. Dean followed.

They entered the swankiest, tackiest apartment Dean had ever seen. Heavy velvet curtains with gold ropes draped the windows. The carpet was so plush Dean’s feet were nearly lost in it. Extravagant chandeliers with garish crystals provided light. There was even more expensive shit here than Dean had seen back in the Beautiful Room, but the Room had looked tasteful. This mostly looked, well, overdone. It gave Dean the impression that the owner of the apartment was desperately trying to compensate for some feeling of inadequacy. Or that he had exceptionally bad taste in interior design.

Then someone walked into the room and Dean forgot about his surroundings.

Standing before him was a man wearing a maroon velour robe, tied at the waist, with matching slippers. A lit cigar was in one hand, a wine glass with amber liquid in the other. The man’s face was set in a smirking grin as he looked at Dean. But it was the face itself that upset Dean the most. Primarily because it was the face Dean saw every time he looked in the mirror. “Hey there, Dean-o!” Not-Dean called cheerfully. “I gotta say, your friend back in that bunker? Punches like a bitch.”

“You... You’re...!” Dean could only sputter.

“Hey, you know, Trickster, right?” Not-Dean said with a shrug. “Gotta keep up the rep and all that.” Green eyes turned to Cass. “Good work, Castiel. Did you get Samandriel?”

“I did,” Cass said. His voice was full of reverence. “He’s being healed up as we speak, and having everything explained. He should be there in time for roll call.”

“Roll call?” Dean eyed Not-Dean. “You have roll call?”

“Angels,” the Trickster said, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. “They like to hear me say their names.” He gave Dean a wink and then looked back at Cass. “Think you can give me a few minutes to talk with Dean? I imagine he’s got questions.”

“Be careful he doesn’t punch you,” Cass advised.

Dean thought this was excellent advice. The urge to punch his doppelganger was getting harder and harder to ignore.

The Trickster flicked ash from his cigar without care for the plush carpeting. “If he wants to take a swing, he’s welcome to. Thanks for the advice, though, Cassie.” He wiggled his fingers at Cass. “Toodle-loo!”

Cass bowed and headed out.

Dean turned back to the Trickster, who was grinning at him like a fool as he sipped his wine glass. “You’ve got five minutes before I actually do punch you,” Dean warned.

“What’s the matter, Deanie? Can’t hold your load that long?”

“The time just went down to fifteen seconds.”

The Trickster sighed dramatically. “Humans. Must be their short lifespans, because none of them seem to have any patience. Why, just the other day...”

Dean’s punch sent him sprawling backwards onto a fancy velvet couch, spilling his drink all over his robe and causing his cigar to fall into a potted plant. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Dean yelled. “Samandriel was captured and tortured. Angels died trying to get him back from the King of Hell. The literal Devil is in Detroit, gearing up for God alone knows what, and God is nowhere to be found. All these angels here? They’re all looking to you! And what are you doing? Running around in a stupid robe acting like an ass!”

“Hey, don’t hold back, Dean, tell me how you really feel,” the Trickster muttered. He rubbed at his face where he’d been punched with one hand, ruefully looking at his empty glass. With a shrug, he tossed it behind the couch, where it shattered against the wall.

“You?” Dean pointed a shaking finger at his double. “You had better get your ass in gear, and I mean now. Because if Castiel is willing to take all Heaven can dish out in your place? You had better damned well be worth it!”

The Trickster got to his feet. He brushed off his robe and tugged his sleeves back into place. “I never asked Castiel to do that.”

“Yeah, well, he did it! Now tell me why?” Dean demanded. “What the hell is so special about you that someone like Cass would lay it all out for you?”

“Oooh, that’s interesting.” The Trickster moved closer, seeming to inspect Dean’s face. “I heard your soul reacted to his Grace. Neat-o! That hasn’t happened in a hell of a long time. So what’s it like? You have fuzzy feelings, fun dreams about ol’ blue eyes? Maybe starch a few socks, if you know what I mean?”

Dean hadn’t intended to punch him again. It took a moment to realize he did, especially since, this time, the Trickster didn’t move. Dean winced, shaking his hand.

“Huh!” The Trickster seemed fascinated. “You really feel something for him, don’t you?”

“What the fuck business is it of yours?!”

“Well, Cassie’s got a role to play,” the Trickster explained. “I can’t have him forced to choose between you and the cause. So I kind of need to know where things stand between you two. So tell me. Do you feel something for him?”

“I... We... I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed. He turned away to pace. “Yeah, there’s something there. I can’t deny that. But the truth is, all I know about Cass is that he’s a badass motherfucker of an angel who’s willing to give his all for what he believes in. That’s awesome, you know? I never had anything I believed in that much, except my brother.”

“Sam Winchester.” The Trickster’s voice softened.

“Yeah.” Dean turned back around to face him. “You know about Sammy?”

“I know more about Sam Winchester than you can imagine.” All traces of the joking, irreverent clown Dean had met were gone now. His own image stared back at Dean, eyes serious and somehow full of pain. “You see, Castiel is not the first angel in modern times to have encountered the soul that matches his Grace. When Lucifer first came to Earth, I disguised myself and got close, trying to see if I could find out what his end game was. And the moment I sensed your brother’s soul?” He shook his head. “I never felt anything like it before or since.”

Dean blinked. “I keep hearing stuff about how powerful I am, me and my brother both. What’s that all about?”

“Very few people have bodies that can serve as vessels for archangels,” the Trickster explained. “Even fewer have minds that are capable of understanding and using magic. You and your brother have the rarest thing of all. You’re both archangel vessels and magic-users.”

Dean felt cold. “I thought magic users were a myth?”

“That’s what Heaven wanted you to think.” The Trickster stepped closer. “When the angels took over, they hunted down all magic users, because their magic is one of the few things that could threaten an angel.” He shook his head, looking sorrowful. “Everything and everyone that could pose a threat to the rule of Heaven was sought out and destroyed by the Host. Everything and everyone, except for one particular family tree.”

“Mine,” Dean groaned. “So it’s true? Sammy and I were bred specifically to be vessels?”

“Yes, and no.”

“What do you mean?”

“Free will,” the Trickster insisted. “Your parents chose each other because they fell in love. You never knew, but your mother was a magic user. And that’s why, after your brother was born, she was hunted down and destroyed.”

“What?!” Dean felt cold all over. “No, that’s not true, she died...”

“Dean?” The Trickster’s hand was gentle on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it’s true. The Host killed your mother. Lucifer took your brother and killed your father. Then Samandriel marked you for Michael. Your whole family has been altered by its connection with angels, Dean. Now you find out that your soul is destined for one?” He shook his head. “I can only imagine what must be going through your head.”

“Wait.” Dean shrugged away from the Trickster’s hand. He took a few steps back, raising a hand to ward the concerned mirror image of himself off. “How can you know so much about my family?”

“Because this battle between Michael and Lucifer has been foretold for centuries,” the Trickster explained. “Pretty much everyone else thought that once Mikey booted Luci’s ass into the cage and he straightened his act out, it was over. Nuh uh. Luci was never going to give up that easily, and Mike and Raph were fools for believing he would. Although to be perfectly honest, knowing Mikey the way I do? I’m half convinced that the fucker knew exactly what he was doing. How else do you explain how Luci was able to get himself his shiny new vessel and flit off to Detroit, right under Mikey’s nose?” The Trickster scoffed. “The fact of the matter is, Mikey loves conflict. He’s always had daddy issues. Both of them did! Luci was like a petulant teen, all angsty and ‘You don’t love me enough’ and trying to rebel. Mikey was an attention whore, constantly wanting credit for every little thing and feeling jealous that Luci got so much attention by being a rebel while he played the dutiful son. No one but Luci knows what’s going through his head, but Mikey?” The Trickster shook his head. “Mikey wants a big fight so he can show everyone once and for all that he’s the baddest of the bad asses. All because he thinks if he beats Luci, Daddy will come back and love him.”

Dean stared, open mouthed. “H-how the hell do you know all that?”

“Because I was there, Dean,” the Trickster explained patiently. “I know exactly what those two assholes are like because I was right there with them. I know them very well. Then there’s Raph, always so eager to please his big bros but never taking sides because he wants them both to like him. So he kisses the ass of whoever’s in power and waits to see which way the chips fall. You think he doesn’t know what’s going on? You bet your sweet perky little ass he knew! Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he’s the one who was behind Luci sneaking out, just so Mikey would depend on him more while Luci knows he owes him one.”

Dean had never heard such blatant blasphemy in all his life. His eyes were in real danger of popping from their sockets. “You’re not just a copper level angel, are you? What are you, a gold?”

“Keep going.”

Now Dean was swaying on his feet. He stumbled to one side, catching himself with a side table. “You’re...? No. That’s not possible. There’s only three archangels.”

“Nope.” The Trickster produced a lollipop from nowhere and stuck it into his mouth, sucking loudly around it. “That’s the trick, you see? There aren’t three archangels, there’s four. And that’s what the Host has done its very best to hide from everyone, angels and humans alike. Of course the demons know, but they aren’t about to do anything about it. I mean, an archangel, falling, hiding on Earth for centuries? Wouldn’t that just dump everything Heaven would like you to believe right on its head? Half the host would strangle on their own halos if that got out!”

“Or,” Dean said slowly, “they would follow you.”

The Trickster made a noise.

“Why don’t you tell them?” Dean asked, turning back to face him. “I’ll bet a lot of angels would follow you if they found out they were being played and there was a fourth option!”

“No they wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Two reasons.” The Trickster took another suck of his lollipop. “First, the gold angels have been literally drilling into their heads that there are only three archangels. That’s always right at the front of the mind of every lesser angel. It takes a lot for them to get through that.”

“So I’ve heard,” Dean agreed, thinking of Samandriel.

“Second, I’m more of a lover than a fighter,” the archangel continued. “If I went up against my big bros, well, they’d wipe the floor with me. That’s why I’ve been fighting with my wits instead of my blade.”

“And why you let Castiel stand as the face of your organization?” Dean asked.

The lollipop dipped in acknowledgement. “You got it.”

“Who are you?” Dean wondered. “I’ve never heard anything about a fourth archangel.”

“Yeah, they did a pretty thorough cleanse,” the Trickster sighed. “Burning down churches in the name of destroying lore, crashing databases, gathering up everything they could find with my name on it. It’s hardly surprising you’ve never heard of me. No one in your generation has, Dean. By design. My brothers want nothing more than for me to be forgotten forever. As far as they know, I died a long time ago. That’s precisely the way they like it. Because for me to beat them, and finally free humanity? I need to stay hidden.”

“You’re the ace in the hole,” Dean realized. “The one thing your group has that can turn the tides. Because they would follow you, wouldn’t they? The angels, that is, if they knew about you?”

“I think a lot of them would, yes,” the Trickster admitted. “But only because I’ve spent years laying the groundwork. Anna, Samandriel, Castiel? They’re the tip of the iceberg. Every day, more and more angels are asking questions that can’t be answered. Some of those poor angels have had their heads drilled into so many times it’s just not as effective anymore. So when I pull a string here or drop a whisper there, bring those questions to the surface, eventually they pop free. That’s how I got Cassie, and the reason Samandriel didn’t just scream for help to get you delivered to Michael right away. I’m close now, Dean. Real close. All I have to do is expose Michael and Lucifer’s plans. Then, I assure you, I will be coming out of hiding.”

“What about Sammy?” Dean searched the replica of his own eyes, looking for truth there. “What’s going to happen to my brother?”

“Oh, Dean.” The face broke into a gentle smile. “My Grace reacts to your brother’s soul. Don’t think for one minute that I will let my asshole brother keep what is rightfully mine!”

That struck the wrong cord with Dean. He scowled. “Sammy doesn’t belong to anyone,” he growled. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

Keeping the lollipop carefully away from his hair, the Trickster slid his hands up over his face, moving from his chin to the back of his head. Dean’s face vanished, revealing another in its place. This one had amber eyes and long, flowing locks Sam might envy. The eyes sparkled with mischief as the mouth curled into a smirk. “Name’s Gabriel,” he said. “Archangel of the Lord. Nice to meetcha!”


	23. Tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are being made, but Castiel's role in them doesn't suit Dean

Angels, it seemed, did indeed like hearing Gabriel say their names. Roll call gave Dean time to grab a bite to eat and angel watch a bit. Even Cass and Samandriel lit up when their names were called. Dean could only shake his head. It was silly, and endearing. But at the same time, it gave voice to a lot of the doubts Dean had. The building seemed to be packed full of angels, all flitting in and out. He’d been assured that it, the surrounding grounds, and the angels themselves were all heavily warded. Based on how long roll call went on, it seemed that Gabe had a lot of angels on his side. But Dean knew it wasn’t nearly what Heaven could call on.

Cass barely had a moment to himself. He had his own little orbit, a shadow of Gabe’s, of angels seeking his attention. Gabe was seated at a long table covered in papers and charts. Cass had his own table. A few angels were scurrying back and forth, delivering papers from Cass to Gabe and back. Dean entertained a fantasy about a young boy with his own little desk at his father’s office, emulating daddy. But the fantasy only made him smile for a moment. This was real. These angels were all risking their lives, but none more so than Cass.

Finished with his meal, Dean stomped his way over to Gabe, shoving a few angels aside to demand the archangel’s attention. “What’s the plan?” he demanded. “You got Cass to get everyone’s attention, and he’s done it. Now Samandriel and I are gone, which means Michael’s going to come gunning hard for Cass. So what are you going to do about it?”

“Already working on that, Dean-o,” Gabe assured.

It seemed odd for the archangel well-named as the Trickster to appear so solemn. Dean frowned. “Why do I get the feeling that I won’t like the plan?”

“Because I’m fairly sure you won’t.” Gabe’s champagne-colored eyes seemed to study him. “Dean, I know you don’t trust me, and you’ve got good reason not to. But no one knows my brother Michael better than I do. I know what I’m doing. Here.” He passed over a key. “I’m putting you up in room 307. Why don’t you go get some rest? You look like you could use it.”

Dean had to admit that a bit of rest sounded like a wonderful idea. His hand closed on the key, index finger out and shaking at Gabriel. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he warned. “Remember, it’s Cass that’s out front to take the brunt of any shit you pull, not you.”

“Believe me, I am very much aware of that.” The Trickster seemed like he was about to say something more. Instead, he smiled. “Get some rest, Dean. I’m doing everything I can to make sure all my people are safe.”

“I hope so,” Dean sighed. He turned and headed for the elevator.

Room 307 turned out to be a single bedroom economy apartment. There was a tiny living area with a couch and a TV just inside the door. A kitchen was on the left, and the bedroom was on the right. Moving through the bedroom, Dean encountered a bathroom with a tub surrounded by a shower curtain and the shower aimed into the tub. It was cozy and nice enough. The bed certainly looked inviting. Dean was toeing off his boots to test it out when there was a knock on his door.

His visitor was Cass. The angel stood with, of all things, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Dean looked from the flowers to the angel, seeing a blush coloring Cass’s cheeks.

Cass pushed the flowers towards Dean. “I, um, was looking up human courtship customs,” he explained. “I read that it’s a tradition for a man to bring flowers to his intended to express his interest.”

“It is,” Dean confirmed, taking the flowers. “I’ve never really been a flowers guy, but I do appreciate the gesture. Come on in.”

Dean headed to the kitchen, surprised to find it was fully stocked. He got a large glass from the cupboard and put the flowers in it with some water. This, he placed on the table. “That’s nice,” he admitted. “Adds some color. Thank you, Cass.”

The angel had been shyly tagging after Dean, watching everything he did. At this apparent acceptance of his gesture, Cass gave him a gummy smile. “Does this mean you’ll go on a date with me?”

“A date?” Dean grinned back. “Sure! Why don’t you come back over tonight, and we can watch a movie? You like Harrison Ford?”

Cass thought for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve heard of him.”

Dean groaned dramatically. “Cass, we gotta get you caught up, here! Ok, that settles it. Tonight, eight o’clock, you come back here and we watch ‘Raiders Of The Lost Ark.’ It’s a good place to start with introducing you to one of the greatest actors of all time.”

“Alright.” Cass looked so genuinely happy that Dean couldn’t help but laugh. That only made the angel smile more. He tentatively reached out and took Dean’s hand. “I’m looking forward to tonight.”

“Me, too.” Dean swallowed around the butterflies that suddenly filled his stomach. The way the angel was looking at him, Dean was certain he was about to be kissed. A repeat of that first kiss would be welcomed right now.

Instead, Cass nodded, gave Dean’s hand a gentle squeeze, and saw himself out.

Dean sighed in disappointment. Why hadn’t Cass kissed him? Why hadn’t he kissed Cass? Yeah, they’d agreed to start from the beginning and take things slow, but the memory of that kiss was doing things to Dean. Cass was damned good-looking. He couldn’t be blamed for taking an active interest, angel soulmate mojo be damned.

The knock on his door made him jump. Dean’s heart immediately started racing. Cass was back. Maybe he was going to get that kiss after all? The thought made him all but run to the door to open it.

But it wasn’t Cass this time. Samandriel stood there. The angel was fully healed and appeared back to his old self. But something about his face, the look in those blue eyes, made Dean take a step back. “Hey, Samandriel,” he called. “What’s going on?”

Samandriel came in without being invited, all but pushing Dean out of his way. Puzzled, Dean closed the door and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Hey,” he called softly. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

Instead of answering, Samandriel only smiled. “Rejoice, candidate,” he said. “Your time has come.”

****

Castiel had returned to his archangel’s side when he heard the first stirrings of trouble. All around the facility, angels were arriving. Angel blades flashed. Screams filled the air as Grace was drained, leaving behind nothing but crumpled vessels and the scorched marks of wings.

Fortunately, they’d planned for an attack. Castiel led a group of angels in trying to hold back the attackers, allowing for others to gather up their most valuable data and escape. But their plans had never counted on numbers like they were facing now, or the ranks of angels leading the attack. Castiel had already seen two gold level angels before he’d been forced to fall back. Uriel and Balthazar were with him, being pressed hard to continue their fighting retreat. He had no idea how many they’d already lost, or how many more would fall. But there was only one name echoing through his head as he fought. “Dean!” he yelled. “Has anyone seen Dean?”

“He’s gone!”

It was Gabriel. The archangel had stationed himself at one of the chokepoints into the building, where he’d locked blades with a determined gold level angel.

“What do you mean?” Castiel called. “Did he get away?”

Gabriel’s blade plunged into the other angel and the archangel turned to look at him. “Castiel, I’m sorry,” he began, “but Dean’s...”

The archangel’s words were choked off when he threw his head back. Light blazed from his eyes and mouth. The tip of a golden blade protruded from his chest. Castiel screamed, seeing the last true hope he had crumple to the floor. He stared for a moment, stunned, at the fallen archangel, before his eyes went to the figure behind him.

Green eyes crinkled as lips curled into a smile. “Thanks for the meat suit.”

“Michael!” Seizing his angel blade, Castiel started forward. But hands grabbed him, dragged him back. He fought, straining to reach the monster in the body of the man who’d drawn him like no other. Too strong. There was a rush, his own wings reacting too late to keep himself from being dragged away.

When his feet once more touched the ground, he was immediately fighting. He thrashed, trying hard to twist free from Uriel and Balthazar. “Let go of me! He’s got Dean!”

“We know,” Balthazar called, trying hard to keep calm even as he refused to release his friend. “Michael has claimed his vessel. He’s also struck down the Trickster. Now you’re all we’ve got, Castiel, so for all our sakes, _calm the fuck down!”_

Castiel froze in place. “Wh-what?”

“Every angel that survived is going to be following the contingency plan,” Uriel said. “They’ll all be regrouping, just like you had planned. And they’re going to need someone to look to. That’s you, Castiel.”

“Me?” He pulled free, turning to face his friends. A harsh laugh broke from his throat. He doubled over, hands on his knees to support himself, and shook his head. “You can’t be serious. Why would anyone be looking to me?”

“Because you’re the leader,” Uriel insisted. “You’re the one standing out front.”

“Uriel, that was a ruse!” Castiel rose, looking incredulously between the two angels. “You both know I was never really in charge. It was Gabriel all along. I’m nothing more than a decoy, a stand-in to protect him. But he’s gone now. Michael just killed him.” Saying it hurt, but remembering it hurt more. Michael, in Dean’s body, stabbing Gabriel through the chest, smiling as he stood over the lifeless archangel, the shadow of Gabriel’s wings burned into the floor...

Balthazar stepped forward, taking Castiel by the upper arms and giving him a shake. “Yes, Gabriel is gone,” he agreed. “We’ve lost the fourth archangel, and there’s nothing we can do about that now. But the fact is, there was a fourth archangel. Michael, Raphael, and Lucifer had to have known about him. But no one remembers him.”

Uriel nodded. “That means we’ve been manipulated. All of us. The gold level angels have been playing with our minds for years, wiping our memories, controlling us. It means everything we believe we stand for is a lie! That’s why I joined, and it’s why other angels will join too. All we need is someone to convince them.”

“That’s why we need you,” Balthazar said. “You’re the poster boy of the rebellion, Castiel. It’s your pretty face that everyone recognizes. Gather whatever remains of Gabriel’s forces, and let’s regroup, figure out where to go from here.”

“Don’t you get it?!” Castiel exploded. “I have no idea where to go from here! Michael has taken his vessel and he’s determined to have that battle with Lucifer. What do you think that will do to this world?”

“Well, it’s going to be rough, that’s for sure,” Uriel admitted. “But humanity has bounced back before.”

For a moment, Castiel almost blurted out the truth. Right now, he didn’t care about humanity. There was only one human he cared for now, and that human was most likely lost to him forever. The problem was, Dean wouldn’t want him to give up. Dean, Castiel knew, would want him to keep fighting. He had little doubt Dean himself was fighting hard, giving Michael no end of difficulty.

Of course, that raised another question. “How did it happen?” he asked, looking between Uriel and Balthazar. “How did Michael get Dean?”

The two exchanged a look. “Actually, I was hoping one of you could tell me,” Uriel admitted. “I had no idea there was a problem until angels started dying.”

“The first attacks came from inside the compound,” Balthazar reported. “We were attacked from within before the attacks came from without. That’s why things got so bad so quickly. Suddenly we had an archangel in our midst and his generals outside. It’s amazing any of us got out.”

“That puzzles me, as well,” Uriel agreed, frowning in confusion. “Michael had a chance to do far more damage than he did. What he managed was bad enough, but once he was seated fully in his vessel, he should have been able to level the entire compound. I don’t understand what was holding him back.”

Castiel thought maybe he did. His mind flashed back, remembering Dean’s theory that his brother had somehow acted to restrain Lucifer. He stilled, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. “Uriel,” he called, “did Michael plan to go directly to Detroit once he had his vessel?”

“Not directly,” Uriel corrected. “It’s Michael. You know how much he loves attention. He’d planned to hold a press conference, let the world know he was there, and then give a big speech denouncing Lucifer.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Issue him a formal challenge, no doubt. Michael was always big on ceremony. Little wonder Dad got fed up with it all.”

“Then we’ve got time.”

Uriel and Balthazar looked sharply at Castiel. “What are you thinking?” Uriel asked.

“I’m thinking that, without Gabriel, we can’t possibly stand against Michael,” Castiel began. Seeing the disappointed looks on his friends’ faces, he raised a hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not giving up. I’ve got an idea, but I need some time to put it in motion. And I need to know how many angels we still have with us.”

“More importantly, you need to know if whoever betrayed us is still out there,” Uriel added.

Balthazar and Castiel stared at him. “What?” Uriel exclaimed. “You haven’t figured it out? There’s only one way that Michael could have gotten in past our guards, and that’s hidden away in someone’s vessel. Dean would be the logical choice.”

“It wasn’t Dean,” Castiel said quickly. “I know that. The runes on his arm hadn’t been activated when I saw him last.”

“But he was marked for Michael,” Uriel remanded. “As long as his collector was there to connect the two of them, Michael only needed to be in close proximity to his vessel.”

“There were only three new angels with him,” Balthazar said. His eyes were on Uriel. “You, me, and Samandriel.”

“It wasn’t Samandriel,” Castiel insisted. “Samandriel was able to break whatever Naomi did to him and bring Dean to us. Without him, we would never have gotten Dean out before Michael took him.”

Uriel spread his hands. “Feel free to check me. I did not bring Michael in with me.”

“Nor I,” Balthazar added. “Check us, Castiel.”

Castiel did a quick check. Finding no sign of the archangel’s recent presence in either of the two vessels, he shook his head. “That leaves only one possibility. But I can’t... I can’t believe it!”

“I will admit, it’s a brilliant move,” Uriel grumbled. “I never would have expected Michael to hide inside of a copper-level angel. But looking back, it makes sense. When we rescued Samandriel, he was immediately hurried into Naomi’s office. She must have drilled into his head again, probably through the same holes Crowley had used to silence his telepathy, and removed the memory of Michael entering him. Then, if Samandriel did as he was ordered and transferred Dean to Hael, Michael would simply leave him and take his vessel. But if Samandriel rebelled again, Michael would have his ticket into our midst.”

“Samandriel,” Castiel whispered. He grimaced, hands clenched tight. “Samandriel... was good!”

“Samandriel was manipulated, Castiel,” Balthazar said softly. “Just like we all were. Michael played his cards brilliantly. Once Samandriel was in their hands, Michael couldn’t lose no matter what choices were made.”

“He’s right,” Uriel agreed, his voice soft. “All he had to do was take control of Samandriel’s vessel once he was away from other angels, find Dean, and take his arm. He could have instantly transferred into Dean at that point. Dean wouldn’t have had so much as a chance to blink before it was over.”

Castiel closed his eyes and buried his pain. He nodded, his plan once more taking shape in his mind. “When you rescued Samandriel,” he began, looking at Uriel, “how much damage did you do to Crowley and his forces?”

Uriel scoffed. “That pompous red-eyed fool was running for Detroit as soon as he realized his filth didn’t stand a chance against my forces.”

“How many demons do you think went with him?”

“Quite a few, I’d imagine,” Balthazar said. “Naomi had a demon captive that actually helped us get through Crowley’s defenses. I released her as payment when we were finished...”

“Stupid move, if you ask me,” Uriel growled.

Balthazar ignored him. “...And she said she was heading for Detroit. Said she imagined she’d find most of her friends there, but that we shouldn’t worry. No demon would be stupid enough to step between Michael and Lucifer.”

“So demons are likely flocking to Lucifer, but they won’t help him fight Michael?” Castiel asked.

“Not a chance,” Uriel agreed with a scoff. “Demon scum are too invested in their own slithery hides to get involved with archangels.”

“And Michael wouldn’t take his army with him, because he wants to prove he can beat Lucifer alone and be the hero,” Balthazar said. His eyebrow was cocked questionably at Castiel. “You’re seriously thinking about going to Detroit?”

“I am,” Castiel agreed. “Only an archangel can kill another archangel. Raphael will bow out until he sees who wins this and then ingratiate himself to the winner. And I know we can’t go back to Michael. The only choice, then, is to go to Lucifer.”

“Castiel, you have officially lost your mind,” Uriel declared, rolling his eyes skyward. “Only a fool would trust in Lucifer.”

“I agree, and I’m no fool,” Castiel said. “But there’s a couple of things that neither Lucifer nor Michael are taking into account in this equation.”

Balthazar chuckled. “You really do have a plan!”

Uriel groaned and raised his hands in surrender. “I must be the biggest fool since Gadreel permitted the Serpent into the Garden,” he groaned. “But what else is there? Alright, Castiel. Whatever the plan, I’m in.”

Castiel smiled, placing a hand on one shoulder of each friend. “Thank you, my friends. Now we should get going. We’ve got angels to round up, and a trip to Detroit ahead of us.

Castiel knew that humans couldn’t hear prayers. It didn’t matter. His prayer to Dean went out as the three of them took wing. _Hang on, Dean. Don’t let Michael break you. Stay strong. I’m coming for you._


	24. Detroit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With nothing to lose, Castiel faces Lucifer

“Well well,” the demon called. “Look who’s back?”

Balthazar’s face wore a pinched smile as he regarded the pair of demons who had arrived to escort them to Lucifer. “Meg.”

“Sorry you didn’t kill her yet?” Uriel muttered under his breath.

“I heeeeaaaarrrd thaaaaaat!” Meg called.

The other demon regarded the trio of angels with narrowed eyes, crossed arms, and a deep scowl of disgust. “Look at you,” she sneered. “Coming out here to grovel to Lucifer because Michael outsmarted you.”

“Now now, Ruby,” Meg scolded, moving forward. Her eyes were locked on Castiel. “That’s no way to speak to our guests. Especially not those as hot as this one. Hey there, Clarence, I’m Meg.”

Castiel frowned and opened his mouth to correct her. Uriel quickly moved to stand between him and the approaching demon. “Stay away from him,” he ordered. “We’re here to see Lucifer, not some bottom-feeding demons.”

“Oh, yeah, Meg,” Ruby sighed. “I totally get what you see in these stupid birdbrains.”

“As pleasurable as it is talking to you two ladies?” Balthazar said between clenched teeth. “We really do need to speak with Lucifer.”

“Lucky you,” Meg called, peering around Uriel to eye Castiel. “We’re here to escort you to him.”

Something about the way the demon was looking at him, her eyes moving up and down his body, made Castiel want to pull his trench coat closed. Uriel visibly bristled, while Balthazar only sighed. The three of them started forward.

“Uh uh!” Meg called, holding up a hand. “Luci is only interested in talking to Clarence back there. You two studs get to wait here.”

“Out of the question!” Uriel snapped. “We’ll not leave Castiel with you filth. Now take us to Lucifer or step aside!”

“Or what?” Ruby challenged with a toss of her hair. “You gonna smite us? Go ahead! I doubt even three big bad silver angels can take on what we’ve got out here.”

“She’s riiiiight!” Meg sing-songed. “Detroit is crawling with demons right now. I don’t think there’s a human left in this city who isn’t possessed, from the oldest grandma in the nursing home to babies barely old enough to crawl. You boys walked right into a hornet’s nest.”

“One word from us, and you’ll find yourselves hurting in ways you never imagined,” Ruby added. She moved closer, standing next to Meg to smirk at the angels. “You’re not in charge here. Not anymore.”

“Fine,” Balthazar growled. “We’re leaving. We’ll just find another...”

“I’ll go with them,” Castiel said.

His friends stared incredulously at him. “Castiel, that is extremely unwise,” Uriel warned. “We’re surrounded by demons. You’d barely stand a chance to escape with your wings still attached if we were with you, but alone?”

“You’d be at their mercy,” Balthazar agreed. “You cannot agree to this!”

“Believe me, I’m not comfortable with it,” Castiel admitted. “But we’re running out of time. If we want any chance at a positive outcome, then I’ve got to meet with Lucifer. If it must be on his terms, then so be it.”

Both of his friends began to argue at once. Castiel quieted them with a raised hand. “If Lucifer wanted us dead, he could have ordered his demons to attack us back at the border,” he pointed out. “If Detroit really has been completely overtaken by demons, and we have no reason to believe it hasn’t, then Lucifer is obviously interested in what I have to say. There’s no reason not to continue to trust him.”

“There’s no reason to ever trust the likes of Lucifer,” Uriel growled. “For the record, I am completely against this.”

“As am I,” Balthazar agreed.

“Noted,” Castiel sighed. “Wait here for me. And brothers?” Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Don’t allow yourselves to be taunted into a position where these demons might have any justification for attacking you.”

Uriel’s face was a thundercloud. Balthazar’s lips were pinched, but he gave a sharp nod.

Reluctantly turning his back on his friends, Castiel approached the two demons. “Alright. I’m in your hands. Take me to Lucifer.”

“Ooo, Clarence, in my hands? I like it!” Meg immediately wrapped herself around Castiel’s arm. Ruby sniffed disdainfully and started away, expecting the other two to follow.

Castiel could feel eyes on him as they traveled through the city. Lucifer’s banner was everywhere, hung from flagpoles and draped over buildings. Fewer in number but no less noticeable were the bodies of those who had tried to oppose Lucifer’s rule. Rotting corpses hung from the occasional post, a grisly reminder of what it cost to oppose the archangel. The city was unnaturally silent. Streetlights illuminated the way, flickering to life with the setting of the sun. They produced eerie areas of light and shadow for the trio to travel through. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the darkened streets, as though the city had been emptied of life. But that was far from the case. Black-eyed beings stood like silent sentinels, crowding the sidewalks, standing on roof tops, or watching from windows. The only movement from them was the turning of their heads as they followed Castiel’s progress through the streets. It made the hairs of his human vessel stand on end. Meg’s presence did nothing to help. While Ruby was content with simply leading the way, Meg pressed brazenly against him. The demon’s head rested on Castiel’s shoulder. To the casual observer, the two of them might have been lovers out for a stroll.

Then there was what she kept whispering to him. Apparently, she took great interest in him. He wasn’t entirely sure why she wanted him to move furniture with her, but it was clear she found him attractive. Odd.

“You know, this vessel you’re in is so-so,” she whispered. “But the winged version? Hot.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replied, not knowing what else to say. “You also have a kind of thorny beauty.”

She sucked in her breath. “I do?”

Castiel had said it to be polite, but he hadn’t lied and told her as much. For some reason, that stopped her whispering. She still held tight to his arm, but spent the remainder of the walk looking at him, a puzzled expression on her face, as though she wasn’t quite sure what to make of the angel. He decided it was probably best not to mention it and continued to walk in silence.

The demons led Castiel to a large estate surrounded by an iron fence. The gate opened with a loud screech that made him wince. A few demons were around, patrolling the grounds. They stared at Castiel with open hostility, but made no move towards him.

Ruby pushed open a smaller gate leading into a garden and stopped. “On your own from here,” she said. “Time to let your boyfriend go, Meg.”

“Pity,” Meg said, letting go with obvious reluctance. “Guy like this? About as rare as a unicorn.”

Castiel had no idea what to say to that. He gave her an uneasy smile and moved past Ruby, heading through the gate.

Following a path led him deeper into the garden. Someone had taken good care of it. Lush greenery was everywhere. Castiel imagined that normally, especially in the daylight, the garden was a lovely, peaceful place. But now it seemed that the dark shadows hid unseen dangers. Castiel’s hand twitched, wanting the security of his angel blade. He was actually surprised he was allowed to keep the weapon, but really, what difference did it make? He was at the center of Lucifer’s stronghold, surrounded by demons. And of course, the blade could do little against Lucifer himself.

Castiel rounded a corner and stopped. Ahead of him, he saw a tall man with shaggy brown hair. The man wore a pristine white suit complete with polished white shoes. The man’s back was to Castiel, hands clasped behind his back as though he hadn’t a care in the world. His head was tilted back. He appeared to be stargazing. Castiel stayed where he was, knowing that Lucifer was aware of his presence. He knew the archangel would acknowledge him in his own time.

After a few moments of looking up at the sky, Lucifer spoke. “I hear it’s quite the situation upstairs. Ol’ Mikey took out your people and now he’s all over the TV, throwing shade at me. He’s done everything short of talking smack about my momma! Rude!”

Castiel frowned in confusion. Lucifer didn’t have a mother any more than any angel did. But of course, the archangel had spent a great deal of time on Earth. He’d likely picked up some sort of incomprehensible human slang. Dean would probably understand.

No. He couldn’t think about Dean now. Castiel didn’t move or speak, waiting for the archangel to make the first move.

Lucifer turned around. The vessel’s green eyes were achingly familiar, but beyond that, Sam Winchester bore little resemblance to his brother. Sam was well-built, tall, and attractive in a way that was different than Dean. Dean’s features were perhaps best described as “pretty,” while Sam was more masculine and “handsome.” The suit appeared to be custom-tailored. It showed the muscular physique well as Lucifer walked towards Castiel. The face broke into a friendly smile. “Hello, brother.”

“Hello, Lucifer.” Castiel allowed himself to be hugged, gently returning it. “You seem to be doing well.”

“I am, actually.” The taller archangel slid an arm across Castiel’s shoulders, walking with him into the garden. “My vessel is perfect for me. Which, of course, I intended. Now Mikey’s finally taken his. Took him long enough. I guess he had some kind of trouble?”

“You could say that.”

Lucifer directed him to a bench, sitting down and casually slinging one leg over the other. “Your kind of trouble?”

“I had my part to play in it, yes,” Castiel admitted.

Lucifer chuckled. “Why Cassie, I’m surprised! I’ll admit, I always thought you were rather dull. Wouldn’t have imagined you to have it in you to be all plotty and sneaky, trying to steal Michael’s vessel out from under him!”

Castiel didn’t respond. That caused Lucifer to raise an eyebrow. “I heard some things that really piqued my interest,” he said. “The humans have been calling you ‘The Trickster?’”

“They have, yes.”

The archangel leaned forward. “And why would they call you that particular name?”

Castiel shrugged. “I’ve been known to pull a trick or two in order to meet my needs at the time. Humans tend to name a lot of things. Who knows where they get their ideas?”

“I see.” Lucifer leaned back, looking disappointed. “So, you don’t have any big news? No missing relatives showing up?”

“A lot of angels have come to believe in my cause,” Castiel replied, choosing his words carefully. “As you yourself would likely agree, the way Heaven’s currently being run is, shall we say, not ideal?”

Lucifer propped up his chin on his fist. “In what way?”

Castiel looked at him. “Michael has made some decisions that affect Earth. I believe that our Father never intended for us to rule. Humans were meant to have free will.”

“Hey, Cassie, you’re preaching to the choir about free will,” Lucifer agreed. “That’s why I left the first time, and look what happened to me?”

“Yes, I’m very aware.” Castiel licked his lips. “At the time, I agreed that you’d done something terrible and deserving of punishment.”

“And now?” The green eyes seemed to bore into Castiel.

“Now, I believe that free will isn’t something that should be exclusive to humans.”

“Oooooh!” Lucifer breathed, leaning back. “No wonder you’re on Mikey’s shit list,” he whispered. “That’s practically blasphemy!”

“Believe me, I know. Michael has gone to great pains to remind me of that recently.”

“I heard.” Lucifer tutted sympathetically. “Wiped out your base and snatched his vessel back. Pity, really, but honestly? What did you think you could achieve by stealing that vessel? You must have had to chain it to the wall to keep it from running to its precious archangel!”

Castiel roughly dug his fingers into his own thigh to keep his facial expression from betraying his feelings. “I wanted to stop the battle between the two of you.”

That made Lucifer’s eyebrows rise. “Really? What for?”

“Because a fight like that would destroy many human lives,” Castiel replied. “The affairs of Heaven should remain in Heaven. The humans don’t deserve to be dragged into it.”

Lucifer’s face darkened. “So you didn’t come to join me.”

“No,” Castiel replied. “I came to ask you to stop. To not accept Michael’s challenge.”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Lucifer began. “Even if I was the kind of guy who could just let the shit Mikey’s saying about me slide, and believe me, I’m not nearly that forgiving. Even if I didn’t meet him, he’d probably come here after me.”

“Only because he feels he has to prove a point,” Castiel stressed. “Michael believes that if he does this, challenges you and beats you, that our Father will come back. He can’t admit that this sort of infighting is what drove our Father away in the first place.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Oh, who cares why Dad left? He left, and he’s not coming back. That’s what I told Mikey when he decided to step in and stop the human war. He was trying to impress Dad with that, too.” His voice became high and mocking. “Look, Daddy, I saved your precious mud monkeys, aren’t you proud of me?” He scoffed. “As if Dad ever wanted that.”

“I don’t know what I think about us stepping in to save them,” Castiel admitted. “I don’t know, if we hadn’t stepped in, if they wouldn’t have come to a peaceful solution on their own. They hadn’t actually fired any missiles until we showed up and started destroying them. Then they were firing at us, not each other. If we hadn’t stepped in, would they really have destroyed themselves, like we told them they would?”

“Who cares?” Lucifer flicked a hand, dismissing the question. “The point is, we took over. Now they’re dependent on us to lead them. But frankly, Mikey and company have done a shitty job.”

“You think you can do better?”

Lucifer spread his hands. “I’ve taken this place and made it prosperous and crime-free! That was just an example of what I can do for the whole world.”

“You rule by fear,” Castiel pointed out. “Anyone who doesn’t fall in line, you smite out of existence or have them hung from poles in the streets. And now, you’ve allowed the entire city to be taken over by demons! How is that better?”

“Cassie, Cassie!” Lucifer groaned. “It’s a matter of style. You don’t like my way, you don’t like Mike’s way, how would you do things?”

“I wouldn’t,” Castiel replied. “I would withdraw and let humans govern themselves. I’d let them exercise the free will God gave them.”

That made Lucifer snort. “Eh, it doesn’t matter. Bottom line is that Mikey wants a fight and I’m going to give him one. But I’m glad you’re here. It saves me the trouble of hunting you down.”

Castiel stiffened. “Hunting me down?”

“Here’s the thing.” He draped an arm around Castiel’s shoulder. “When I stomp our brother’s face into the ground, and believe me, I am going to beat him this time, I’m going to have to convince the rest of our brethren that they should all fall neatly in line. Can’t have any pesky rebellions like the one you started springing up. But see, you did start a rebellion, Castiel. One that actually proved capable of stealing and keeping Michael’s vessel from him for a while. That, I have to admit, is pretty impressive!”

“What do you want from me, Lucifer?”

“What I want is to show everyone that the Trickster, the worst of the rebels, is on my side,” Lucifer explained. “Mikey had his little press conference. Now it’s time to have mine. And you, brother dear, are going to be doing it with me. Everyone is going to see the Trickster standing at my side when I accept Michael’s challenge.”

Castiel frowned. He shrugged Lucifer’s arm off and stood up, turning to face the archangel. “What makes you think I would do any such thing?”

“Because,” Lucifer replied pleasantly. “You don’t have a choice.” He stood up, looming over Castiel as he smiled down at him. “You are going to stand at my side, Castiel. You don’t have to say a word. All I need is for you to be there. A token show of support, that’s all I’m asking.”

“And if I refuse?”

Lucifer tsked. “Well, if you refuse, then I’ll just have all those demons out there skulking about slowly tear the wings off of your two friends you brought with you.” He peered into the darkness. “I think we’re still close enough for you to hear the screams. What do you say? Want to test it?”

Castiel clenched his fists. “I’ll stand with you.”

“Oh, Castiel,” Lucifer laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Of course you will!”

In the end, Castiel told himself, it didn’t matter. He stood, stiff and silent, face expressionless, at Lucifer’s side, listening as the archangel formally accepted Michael’s challenge. He hadn’t been able to stop the fight. Michael and Lucifer would meet, in a final, decisive fight to the death.

So be it.


	25. Faceoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes down to a final meeting in Detroit

Michael’s arrival came with all the expected fanfare. The bow-legged archangel was riding in a stretch limo with a full police escort. Blinding flashes went off as he stepped out and waved to the press. He was dressed not for battle, but for a red carpet event in an expensive tailored suit. His hair was slicked back. On his lips was a smarmy grin that Castiel had never seen on Dean.

Castiel stayed where he was, standing on Lucifer’s right side. Lucifer was dressed in camo from the cap on his head to his combat boots, as though he were a soldier in his own army. His posture, though, was anything but regulation. He leaned one elbow on Castiel’s shoulder, one boot crossed over the other. In his left hand, he held a chain. At the end of the chain, on his hands and knees, was Crowley. Leashed like a dog and utterly humiliated, Crowley stared forlornly at the ground. While Castiel had known the demon was here, he’d expected to see him as an advisor, or in some similar role. But Lucifer, apparently, had taken exception to Crowley’s reign as King of Hell. 

“He thought he could take over while I was otherwise occupied,” Lucifer had told a shocked Castiel. “When he came here, he offered to lead the demons in my name. As if I needed a worthless worm like him to do that!”

He’d explained that Crowley was now his dog and would occasionally throw the broken demon a dog treat, which Crowley was immediately expected to eat, even off the ground. Castiel had never cared for Crowley, especially not after he’d seen what the demon had done to Samandriel. But seeing him brought so low had triggered his sympathy.

Michael stepped forward amid flashing cameras and shouted questions, ignoring both as he approached Lucifer and Castiel. Green eyes glanced briefly at Castiel before dismissing him to look at Lucifer. Crowley, he ignored. “Slumming it again, brother?” Michael taunted. “Here you are, an archangel, surrounded by demons and failed rebels like this one.”

Lucifer snorted, handing Crowley’s chain to Meg, who quickly moved away with him. “Says the archangel who couldn’t keep control over his own angels.”

That clearly got under Michael’s skin. His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. “I’m offering you one chance, brother. Come home.”

“So I can rot in that Cage again?” Lucifer scoffed. “Why would I ever agree to do that?”

“So that we can restore Heaven and Earth to what they should be,” Michael urged. “Give up this nonsense and come with me. Together, we can create a unified world, one that our Father would want to return to.”

“And there it is.” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Dad, Dad, Dad. That’s all you care about, Mikey. When will you get it through your thick skull that Daddy doesn’t love you anymore?”

Freckled cheeks flushed. “He does!” Michael insisted. “We made Him angry with all of our constant fighting. That’s why He left. Once we’re unified...”

“Once we’re unified, He’ll come back,” Lucifer said in a high mocking voice. “Then Daddy will bounce me on His knee and tell me what a good boy I am.” He rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Mikey, it’s time to cut the old apron strings, ok? Daddy doesn’t want you. And guess what, brother?” He grinned. “Neither do I!”

Michael’s eyes blazed with Grace. Still grinning, Lucifer’s eyes blazed as well. Their golden archangel blades dropped into their waiting hands. Alarmed, the reporters ran for cover, all but trampling each other in an effort to get out of the way. Apparently, they hadn’t expected the two archangels to start their final battle right in front of them. But Michael and Lucifer cared nothing for human lives.

Castiel saw his chance. Rushing forward, he clapped his hand on Dean’s shoulder, right where he knew he’d left his handprint. “Dean! It’s your brother, Sammy, remember Sam? If you don’t stop him, Michael is going to force you to fight Sam! Stop him, Dean!”

A sudden force threw him violently to the side. “Castiel, I’m surprised!” Lucifer called. His eyes were still glowing a baleful red. “I suppose it was too much to wish that you’d stay out of matters that don’t concern you.”

“This DOES concern me!” Castiel snarled, getting back to his feet. “Dean and I have a profound bond. We’re soulmates, Lucifer, and I won’t let you hurt him!”

Lucifer gave a deep sigh. “Then I guess I’ll have to remove you from the equation.” He raised his hand, fingers poised to snap. Castiel looked hard at Dean, wanting his face to be the last thing he saw.

“SAM!”

The bellow surprised even Lucifer as a determined bearded man ran forward. “Sam, stop it!” Bobby yelled. “I know you stopped Lucifer from killing me before. You gotta stop him again, Sam. Don’t let him hurt Castiel or Dean!”

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. The angel hunters had been less than thrilled when he’d approached them, but at least they’d listened. Castiel hadn’t been sure if they would come and play their roles or not. But it seemed the ragtag group of determined rebels had come through. They were all here now, rushing towards them with their hands loaded with molotov cocktails.

“Bobby...” The whispered voice came not from Sam, but from Dean. “Bobby, Cass, I can’t hold him!”

“Dean?” The red glow was gone from Sam’s eyes as he looked at Dean, seeming to see his brother for the first time.

Dean’s eyes went wide. “Sammy! Sammy, I knew you were in there.”

“He’s so strong,” Sam moaned.

“I know, so’s Michael.” Dean looked pleadingly from Castiel to Bobby. “Please. Help us!”

“On it!” called Ketch, running forward. Something gleamed golden in his hand.

Bobby swore and dove on top of Castiel moments before Ketch hurled an egg-shaped object between the two brothers.

Even shielded by Bobby, Castiel felt it. A force like a mighty wind raced over him, threatening to tear him from his vessel. For a moment, it nearly succeeded. It took all of his strength not to lose his hold. If his vessel hadn’t been empty, Castiel thought as he settled back in, he might have been forced out.

Lucifer and Michael weren’t so fortunate. Castiel clamped his hands over his ears as the two archangels howled their displeasure. Two glowing amorphous figures spun furiously around each other in the air. Ketch pumped his fist. “It worked!”

“Of course it worked,” Balthazar growled. The angel was staggering as he came closer. “I designed it myself. And you very nearly took me and Castiel out with it, you bloody idiot!”

Bobby looked fearfully up. “Will they just take them again?”

“They can’t,” Castiel assured. “They’re out, and they need to get back in the same way they did in the first place, with a collector angel. The moment the angel is out, all the markings on the vessel’s arm would vanish. It’s no different than when an angel leaves a vessel for a new one. Sam and Dean are safe now.”

“Then we did it,” Bobby breathed, relieved. “We finally got Sammy back!”

On the ground, the Winchester brothers embraced each other fiercely. “I thought he’d keep me forever,” Sam whimpered into his brother’s shoulder. “He told me he would.”

“No way,” Dean replied. “I knew you were still in there. But I didn’t know how to get you out, and then Michael took me, and...”

“I don’t care,” Sam’s muffled voice replied. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“No chick flick moments,” Dean retorted.

Sam chuckled. “Jerk.”

“Bitch!”

“Um, guys?” Ellen called. “Hate to interrupt this touching family reunion, but we still have a big problem on our hands!”

It was true. The two archangels, denied their vessels, were rapidly rising, fleeing back to the safety of Heaven.

“Uriel!” Gordon called, looking wide-eyed at the glowing forms. “You better keep your word, you son of a bitch!”

His answer was a roll of thunder. The cloudless sky suddenly broiled with dark clouds, just ahead of the two archangels. Castiel shuddered, sensing it as Uriel and his men slammed shut the gates of Heaven. Now the two archangels had nowhere to go. They spun for a moment, furious at being denied before they dove towards the ground.

Bobby and Ellen had already helped the Winchester brothers to their feet. Castiel, assisted by Balthazar, started towards them. But Ruby suddenly darted forward. She grabbed Sam by the arm, her unnatural strength dragging him back away from Ellen and Bobby. “My Lord Lucifer!” she shrieked. “I will hold your vessel for re-marking, but beware! Crowley and his demons plot against you!”

Sam turned to seize Ruby. He held the demon while Dean plunged Michael’s archangel blade into her. Her form glowed briefly before she toppled to the ground. But the archangels had heard, halting their downward progress.

“Meg has betrayed you,” Castiel called, pointing out the empty collar and chain on the ground some distance away. “She has freed Crowley, and they returned to Hell to bar it against you. Heaven and Hell are both closed to you now. And you can’t survive on Earth without a vessel. Surrender!”

“Come on down, assholes,” Gordon snarled. He hefted the bottle he held in his hand and the lighter in his other. “We got you some nice molotov cocktails of holy oil just ready and waiting for you.”

“You can’t win this,” Bobby agreed. “You’re done!”

Then Dean grunted, and something inside of Castiel suddenly ached. He turned in time to see Hael removing her angel blade from Dean’s heart. Apparently, she had stayed behind, still hoping for a chance to ingratiate herself to Michael. Balthazar yelled and jerked Sam away to safety, but Hael made no move towards the stunned younger Winchester. She ran instead towards Cole.

Cole’s attention was fixed on the archangels. He never saw her coming until she knocked the molotov from his hand and seized his arm. “Michael!” she shrieked. “This candidate is assigned to me. Choose him, and I will sign him to you until you can find a vessel that can hold you.”

When Castiel had met with his fellow angels, the angel hunters, and the demons, they had tried to consider and plan for every possibility at this stage. But the fact that Cole was a candidate was one that they’d all somehow overlooked.

Cole never hesitated. He quickly drew a pistol from his belt, placed the muzzle under his chin, and pulled the trigger.

Balthazar snarled and stabbed his blade into Hael. She screamed, light flashed, and she dropped to the ground.

Castiel was only peripherally aware of it all. His attention was fixed on Dean. The human had collapsed into his brother’s arms, green eyes vacant. “Dean?” he called. “Dean!”

Nothing. The bright, beautiful soul that had resonated so strongly with his own was gone.

****

Bobby Singer hated angels, but never more so than he did right now. His Dean was dead, lying silent and still in Sam’s arms. Bobby had rushed to Sam, but the traumatized former vessel was distraught, sobbing as he cradled his brother’s body. Then Castiel suddenly glowed brightly, and his body dropped, too. Between all this, Cole lying with his brains splattered everywhere, the nimbus forms of two archangels fighting it out overhead and the sky suddenly boiling up above, Bobby was well and truly done with angels. What the hell else could go wrong?

A massive, rolling cloud of snake-like forms slammed headlong into the two archangels.

Oh, yeah, there were demons involved here, too. He’d forgotten the whole damned town was possessed, and, by the looks of things, pissed off about the way things turned out. Demons, he knew from his research, were far less powerful without hosts, and less able to do damage on the material plane. But they were still dangerous to spiritual entities. And without vessels, angels on the material plane were extremely vulnerable.

Suddenly, the weather was going haywire. The wind was howling. Rain poured down, quickly turning to hail that stung the skin and made the ground underfoot treacherous. A bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree, cleaving it in two. Half of the tree crashed to the ground, smashing through the power line. Now the live electrical line was dancing and sparking beneath the limb. Smoke was rising despite the rain and ice.

“Balls!” Bobby grabbed Sam by the arms, prying him away from his brother. “Sam, Dean risked everything for you. Are you gonna let it all go to waste now?! Come on! We need to go.”

It seemed to stir something in the younger Winchester. Sam let himself be dragged away to relative safety, but he moved like a zombie. His face was perfectly blank. Naturally, he was in shock. Bobby had a long, uphill battle ahead of him before he could undo as much as he could of the trauma the young man had gone through. But right now, he was more concerned with getting Sam out of this in one piece.

Above them, the furious demons, hundreds of them, vented their rage on the suddenly-vulnerable archangels. Without vessels, he knew that even archangels were severely weakened on Earth, but they were still archangels. Bobby had no idea how that fight was going to go. He had no intention of sticking around to find out. With one last sorrowful look at Dean and Castiel on the ground, he hurried Sam to his waiting vehicle.

Left alone, Balthazar stared up at the sky. “Castiel,” he whispered, “what are you doing?”

****

The void was in chaos. All around, the individual souls circled the confused reapers while above them, angel fought angel near Heaven’s gates. The very structure of Heaven itself was being tested, but Castiel knew his forces would win. They had to. There was no other choice.

Uriel had spread the word about Gabriel. Now, the news of the fourth archangel had made it clear to the host that they’d been lied to, manipulated, and brainwashed. Raphael, Naomi, and her fellow gold angels suddenly found themselves in the midst of a coup. Heaven’s prisons were filling up with those who’d refused to swear allegiance to Castiel’s new order. But here in the void, there was simply confusion.

Castiel didn’t care. He’d leapt out of his vessel, the physical form only inhibiting him. With all his Grace, he reached for Dean’s soul, chasing after it as it soared higher and higher, trying to reach whatever heaven awaited it.

_“Dean!”_ he called. _“Wait!”_

He could see it now, Dean’s beautiful, one-of-a-kind soul. It had stopped its forward flight with its reaper and turned. Now it seemed to be regarding him.

Castiel cringed. All this time, Dean had thought of him as a man in a trench coat who happened to be an angel. But now, here he was in all of his horrible glory, a grotesque mixture of human and animal faces, multiple wings, and eldritch horror. _“I’m sorry,”_ Castiel said, lowering his heads in shame. _“I must terrify and disgust you.”_

_“No!”_ Dean insisted, moving closer. _“Look at you, Cass! You’re amazing!”_

Amazing? Castiel blinked all of his eyes, as though the action could somehow make sense of what he was hearing now. _“You... you think I’m...?”_

_“You’re incredible, Cass!”_

Dean’s soul hovered near. Wisps of it brushed against Castiel’s Grace, making him shiver. Castiel dared to stretch out a clawed hand and scoop the soul closer. _“Dean, don’t go,”_ he pleaded. _“I know, after what you’ve been through, that this may feel easier. And I would like nothing more than to follow you and spend the rest of eternity at your side. But there are those you left behind who need you. Your friends need you. Your brother does, too.”_

 _“Sammy...”_ Castiel had suspected that would reach the tortured soul he cradled, and it clearly did. _“Alright. Take me to Sammy. But Cass, my body...?”_

 _“I can heal your vessel, if only you would return to it,”_ Castiel promised. _“And if you’ll allow it? I would stay next to you for as long as it continues on.”_

It was happening again, that joining of soul and Grace that Castiel had felt when they’d kissed. Only this time, it was so much stronger. Dean’s soul seemed to nuzzle into him. _“Take me back, Cass,”_ Dean pleaded. _“Take me back to Sammy.”_

****

The demons, it seemed, had won the day. The black, twisting ropes of smoke and hatred formed a Gordian knot around the two archangels before plunging down into the earth. The ground shook. And then, it was over. Somewhere in Hell, Bobby knew, the archangels were being forced into the Cage that had held Lucifer for so long. Hopefully, this time they’d both rot there.

Heaven, it appeared to Bobby, had settled down, too. The clouds were no longer boiling. In fact, they were breaking up. Beams of light shone through the sky, illuminating the still figure that held half of his heart on the ground.

But something was happening. For a moment, Bobby feared it was the archangels returning, but no. There was something different about the wispy nimbus of light that hovered over Dean. Something somehow familiar. It hovered, and seemed to pass something into the still form.

And then, wonder of wonders, Dean gasped and opened his eyes.

Bobby swore. “Sam!” he called. Startling the mourning young man in the passenger seat, Bobby dove out of the car and raced, slipping and sliding over the melting ice, to Dean. Bobby fell to his knees, pulling a wide-eyed, gasping, but wonderfully alive Dean into his arms. “Dean,” he called softly.

“Bobby? Sam!”

Sam nearly plowed them both over in his eagerness to embrace his brother. Dean reached up, feeling intact skin through the bloody rend in his shirt. Then he sucked in his breath, finally noticing the soaked, muddy man in the trench coat that was getting to his feet near them. “Cass!”

Bobby turned, staring wide-eyed at the angel. “How did...? I thought you said an angel couldn’t take a vessel once it got knocked out of it!”

“Not an occupied vessel,” Castiel corrected, brushing mud off of his face. “My vessel has been unoccupied for some time now. I could get back into it.”

“Cass.” Gently pulling free from Bobby and Sam, Dean got up and moved to embrace his angel. “Is it over?”

Castiel held onto Dean as if he might never let go. “Yes,” he said. “It’s over.”

****

Dean fidgeted as Sam adjusted his bowtie. His brother was still smiling that irritating smile that Dean wanted to slap off his face. “I hate you so much right now,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, I love you, too.” Sam finished his work and stepped back. His eyes roamed critically over his brother. “You don’t look half bad,” he admitted.

“This is crazy,” Dean moaned. “Did you see all the cameras out there? We told them this would be a private affair, but there’s a mob all up and down the street!”

“You’ll be fine.” Samandriel brought him a much-needed drink. “You know between me, Castiel, and the angel hunters, no one is going to get inside.”

“Damned right,” Bobby grunted. He moved his jacket a bit, showing the butt of a pistol in his belt. “Anyone who tries it is getting a bullet between the eyes.”

Sam was shaking his head. “You’re impossible,” he declared. “You held back an archangel, kept him from killing Samandriel, Bobby, or me, and you’re worried about a bunch of idiots with cameras?!”

“One, that was life or death, and I had to act,” Dean retorted. “Two, I couldn’t save Gabriel. And three, I think I’d rather face down Michael again then go out and smile for the cameras!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Jerk.”

“Bitch!” Dean gave a little moan as the organ began to play. “Oh, crap, it’s time.”

“Yes, it is.” Sam grinned even wider and slapped his brother playfully on the arm. “See you up front. C’mon, Mandy, let’s go.”

“Mandy?!” Samandriel glowered as he let himself be led away by Sam. “Why must you refer to me by that annoying name your brother gave me?”

“Because you still have stupid names!” Dean managed, proud that he’d kept his teeth from chattering.

Samandriel scowled. “If you didn’t have the ear of one of Heaven’s Elected Board of Directors, I’d seriously consider smiting you.”

“Would you prefer ‘Heaven’s Most Adorable Angel?’ Or would ‘Alfie’ be more to your taste?” Sam asked.

Samandriel grumbled in Enochian as the two headed out.

Bobby moved to Dean’s side. He wore a gentle smile as he offered his arm. “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He looked frantically at Bobby. “Are you really alright with this? Tell me the truth, now.”

“Dean, you’re happy,” Bobby replied softly. “That’s all I have ever wanted for you.”

Instantly, the butterflies in Dean’s stomach settled down. He took Bobby’s arm and let the grizzled veteran lead him out.

As they approached the vestibule, Dean could see Sammy and Samandriel already up front. But once Dean spotted Cass, he couldn’t look at anything else. Castiel looked incredible. He was dressed in a formal tux, his normally-rumpled hair gelled down for once. Those amazing blue eyes were fixed on Dean, full of love. Dean’s heart pounded. He barely noticed everyone standing as Bobby, who had only smiled when Sam teased him about being father of the bride, led him down the aisle.

Dean still didn’t know what made Castiel insist on having the dorky little man in front of them as their officiator. The guy was some kind of science fiction or horror writer, one who’d never had any real commercial success. Before Castiel brought him in, not even Sam, a bookworm if there ever was one, had ever heard of him. The guy wasn’t even a minister, and had gotten ordained with an online certificate. But somehow, it seemed right when he began to speak.

“Today marks a momentous occasion,” Chuck Shurley began. “Humans were never meant to be angel vessels against their will, and angels were never intended to have to force them. It was always meant to be a choice, a partnership on both sides. And now it is again, in no small thanks to the two people before us.”

“In the beginning,” he continued, “certain angels were chosen to bond with specific humans, their Grace to a human soul. It formed a bond like no other, allowing the pair to serve as intermediaries between Heaven and Earth. This is how it was meant to be, Heaven and Earth, side by side, each side benefitting from the other. Through time, the meaning of this bond was lost. But today, we bear witness to a new beginning. On this day, the angel Castiel and the human Dean Winchester will pledge themselves to each other.”

Obviously, the angels had filled this guy in far more than they’d bothered helping Dean. Dean had been terrified that he’d mess things up. He’d begged Castiel and then Samandriel to help him practice, but both angels had refused. Their reasons made no sense to Dean. Something about letting his soul speak at the moment of the bond? What the hell kind of crap was that, anyway? Dean was certain he’d fall on his face. The presence of hundreds of cameras right outside, ready to broadcast his spectacular failure to the entire world, had only made things worse. But when Castiel took his hands and his eyes began to glow, Dean found himself speaking words he didn’t understand right on cue. He couldn’t repeat them if he tried. They weren’t English, or any other language Dean was aware of. But they were the truest words he’d ever uttered.

Dean could feel it now, that joining Castiel had described. He’d felt it before, while the two of them dated and finally got to know each other, but each time, had been only a whisper. Now, though, Dean was fully experiencing it for the first time. The awesome power of their bond was better than anything he’d ever known. Castiel’s Grace was almost overwhelming. It washed over him, powerful yet gentle, filling in the crevices of Dean’s soul until it was impossible to distinguish one from the other.

“You are joined,” Chuck announced. “You are one. May Heaven and Earth rejoice along with you.”

At this point, Dean knew, they were supposed to walk out, arm in arm, to announce their joining to the mob outside. Screw that. Dean was now a married man, and there was only one way to seal a marriage.

Castiel’s eyes went wide in surprise when Dean latched onto his mouth. But he quickly got with the program. He relaxed into Dean’s grip, his own arms coming up to pull him close. Dean deepened the kiss, delighted when Cass responded eagerly.

A throat cleared somewhere in his ear. “Um, Dean?” Sam called quietly. “Do you think you can maybe NOT do that right in a church in front of me and everyone else?”

Dean managed to tear himself away. Cass’s face was flushed, his eyes bright as he looked at him. In the pews, the guests laughed or whistled.

“Ew?” Samandriel said.

“I agree,” Sam told him.

Chuck was smiling. “You two will have plenty of time for that later,” he advised. “Right now, the world is waiting.”

Oh yeah, the mob outside. Oddly enough, Dean no longer felt stage fright. He linked his arm with his angel’s. “You ready?” he asked.

“Of course,” Cass replied.

Together, they walked down the aisle to cheers and applause, ready to show their new bond to the world.

****

Dean had insisted on a wet bar for his reception. At the time, he’d imagined he’d need it. But as it turned out, Dean hadn’t needed it. Even his first dance with Cass hadn’t been nearly as terrifying as he’d anticipated.

Sam, of course, largely ignored Dean. Once he and Samandriel had done their speeches as Best Men, Sam’s attention was almost entirely on the organist. Dean had been surprised to learn that the lovely young woman Chuck had suggested to play for their ceremony was actually deaf. She used a thin metal rod held in her teeth to feel the vibrations of the instrument. From the beginning, she’d fascinated Sam. He’d even studied hard to learn enough sign language to communicate with her, even though she could read lips. Sam was clearly smitten.

Dean took a rare moment when Sam wasn’t with her to approach. “Hey, Eileen, you be careful with my brother,” he warned, smiling at her. “He may be a big moose, but his heart’s kind of fragile.”

“No worries, Dean-o,” Eileen replied. “I’ll take good care of Sammy.”

Her words had surprised Dean somewhat. He was more surprised when she winked at him, popped a lollipop into her mouth, and sauntered back to Sam. Sam practically had hearts in his eyes as he watched her.

Dean blinked. He watched the young woman with his brother for a moment, confused. But then Cass’s arm went around him and he forgot all about Sam and Eileen. “I’ve been studying up,” Cass informed him.

“Studying?” Dean frowned. “What have you been studying?”

“Sex,” Castiel replied without a bit of shame. “I found that folder on your computer labeled ‘Sam keep out’ and I’ve been going through it. The one with the pizza man was quite educational, although that featured a female. The ones that feature two men have been very informative as well, and...”

Dean clamped a hand over Cass’s mouth, cheeks flaming. “Um, how about you don’t talk about that, like ever again?” he pleaded. “Once we’re home and alone, I can tell you whatever you want to know.”

Cass nodded, gently pulling Dean’s hand away from his mouth. He leaned in, his voice deepening as he whispered in Dean’s ear. “If you don’t mind, I think, at least for the first time, that I would rather show you what I’ve learned. Would you like that?”

Would he like that. Oh, how much he would like that. The blush on his cheeks spread to cover his neck and Dean shifted. “How soon do you think we can get out of here?”

Cass’s arm went around him. “I could take you right now, if you want.”

It was tempting. If Bobby hadn’t been heading towards them, his eyes glistening with proud, fatherly tears, Dean might have said yes. Later. After all, good things came to those who wait.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd post the final chapter, since I don't know what's going to happen next week with work being insane. Thank you so much for sticking with me! Hope you enjoy the ending!


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